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Beside Still Waters. pROM isriKCb. 




BESIDE STILL WATERS; 

OR, 

Leaves from a Journal. 



AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, 

150 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK. 



COPYRIGHT, 1S90, 
AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY. 



A Journal Begun 


CHAPTER I. 


CHAPTER II. 


5 


New Duties 17 

CHAPTER III. 

School Trials 27 

CHAPTER IV. 

Beginning Authorship 35 

CHAPTER V. 

Christmas and New Year • 46 

CHAPTER VI. 

Welcome Surprises 57 

CHAPTER VII. 

Girlhood Days Closing - — 67 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Sunday in the New Home — 77 

CHAPTER IX. 

A Month Later 89 


CHAPTER X. 

Two Sources of Disquiet 


98 


4 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XL 

Coming into the Light io6 

CHAPTER XH. 

Hoasekeeping Cares 114 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Efforts to do Good 125 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Temporary Relief 134 

CHAPTER XV. 

Trying to Win Souls 143 

CHAPTER XVI. 

A Call to Self-Denial 156 

CHAPTER XVH. 

Joy over a Soul Won 165 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

A Change of Administration 178 

CHAPTER XIX. 

An Unhappy Sunday 189 

CHAPTER XX. 

A Year’s Close 201 

CHAPTER XXL 

The Missionary Society 210 

CHAPTER XXII. 

After the Vacation 221 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Oppressed with Debt 231 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Clear Shining after Rain 241 

CHAPTER XXV. 

Beside Still Waters. 252 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


CHAPTER I. 

A JOURNAL BEGUN. 

March 7, 1874. My eighteenth birthday. A 
very good day to begin a journal, for by this 
time I have given up most of the good resolu- 
tions that I made in common with all the rest of 
the world on New Year’s day, so my mind is 
quite unburdened by the consciousness of any- 
thing else that must be regularly performed. I 
think this is about the tenth journal I have be- 
gun, and this time I really mean to keep on, for it 
must be nice to have a record of one’s daily life. 

To-day begins a new year in my life, and I 
feel as if I was beginning a new life too. This 
morning I said farewell to uncle and my dear, 
dear aunt, who have always taken the place of 
father and mother to me, for an indefinite time. 
They are going South, for a number of years it 
may be, to see if the change will benefit uncle’s 
health. 

I feel as if I must stop right here and ex- 


6 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


plain it all to you, dear journal, so that you can 
understand all that I record on your pages. 
You see uncle is an “invalid.” Now don’t 
think he is a dear old patient saint who is suf- 
fering with an incurable disease that is making 
rapid strides towards the end. Do n’t think he 
is one of those lovely invalids whose presence in 
the house is a benediction, and whom every one 
thinks it a privilege to minister to. That is such 
a mistake. His disease is one of those conve- 
nient ones that let one do everything he wants 
to, and which give him a good excuse for shirk- 
ing everything that is unpleasant. 

I feel a little conscience-stricken as I write 
this. I know just how dear auntie would look 
at me in a grieved way, and I can almost hear 
her say, “Ah, Phyllis, when will you learn to 
have more sympathy with your poor dear un- 
cle?” Well, as no one will ever read these pages, 
I will say just what I think. If auntie was ten 
times as ill as uncle, I know she would never 
have become the selfish, irritable, nervous per- 
son that uncle is. It ’s my belief that he suf- 
fers more from ill-temper than from ill-health. 
Auntie says my healthy nerves cannot under- 
stand how delicately poised the nerves of an in- 
valid are, and that uncle cannot help his ebulli- 
tions of temper any more than he can help his 
attacks of illness. That may be, but I never 


A JOURNAL BEGUN. 


7 


remember having seen him make the slightest 
effort to control his irritability, and I think a 
man who will make his whole household miser- 
able because something has jarred his nerves, 
is decidedly selfish. 

I am afraid I do n’t approve of my uncle at 
all, and I know it is a dreadful thing to put 
down in black and white, but it is true. Poor 
patient, unselfish auntie has made herself a per- 
fect slave to his whims, and many a time I know 
it has been hard for her to reconcile some of his 
erratic doings with the ideas of right and wrong 
which she had instilled into my mind. She has 
done her best to teach me to love and respect 
him, but I must confess that from the time I was 
a little child I had a most profound contempt for 
the elasticity of his principles ; and though I was 
always taught to save any little delicacy for 
“poor dear uncle,” yet it seemed to me a most 
unfair thing that he should eat as a matter of 
course the dainties that the rest of us would 
have so greatly enjoyed sharing. Well, I sup- 
pose the fact of his being a minister doesn’t 
really make it any worse, for I have noticed that 
people who profess the most are usually the 
greatest humbugs; but I am quite determined 
upon this, that I will never have anything to 
do with the style of religion which makes a man 
selfish and tyrannical. 


8 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


I shall miss auntie, for I do love her with all 
my heart. I do not know but that I admire her 
all the more for trying to shield uncle so loyally, 
but I am glad that my life is finally separated 
from my uncle’s, as I feel that it is, for I am left 
alone to make my fortune in this great city. 

Poor auntie was anxious about leaving me 
before I had any pupils or any settled income ; 
but I told her I was not at all afraid that I could 
not take good care of myself, and she must not 
worry about me. 

I feel very sanguine as I sit here to-night, 
feeling every inch my own mistress. True, I 
have no family friends to fall back upon if I 
should not succeed, for uncle never had many 
friends, and he always said he was too nervous 
to let auntie have any company and keep up her 
old friendships; so I am virtually alone in this 
great city, with only a diploma from a favshion- 
able seminary to assure me a livelihood. I have 
no fear of failure, though. Somehow I feel that 
I shall surely succeed, and I have a glad, trium- 
phant feeling that my life is in my own hands 
now and I can make it what I will. 

Let me write a mental photograph of myself 
and sketch my future as I see it before me to- 
night. I am eighteen to-day, young looking for 
my age I regret to say, as that seems to interfere 
with my probability of getting pupils. I am not 


A JOURNAL BEGUN. 


9 


pretty. I just stopped writing and surveyed 
myself in the glass, trying to describe myself as 
impartially as a stranger might. My hair and 
eyes are my only good points, I must candidly 
admit, for the rest of my features are undeniably 
plain. My hair is a real golden, and my eyes are 
dark blue (expressive, people say, though I can- 
not judge of that), with dark lashes and strongly 
marked eyebrows. My nose is too large, my 
mouth and teeth are decidedly ugly, and I per- 
sist in calling attention to the latter by laughing 
at the slightest provocation. Now for my ac- 
quirements. I have a good English education, 
and I think I remember as much of the five 
years’ course of study at the seminary as any 
of the girls, though I rushed through it in three, 
years. I am considered a good musician. I 
know I ought to be, after the hours and hours of 
faithful practice I have spent upon that branch 
ever since I was six years old. I have n’t a par- 
ticle of talent for music, but I do love it dearly, 
and long ago determined I would be proficient 
in it ; so I mean to keep on and take lessons and 
practise till I excel in it. Music is one of my 
great ambitions. I am qualified to teach Latin, 
French, and German. I believe I have a real 
gift for languages. They seem to come to me 
without any effort, and I mean to be a good lin- 
guist if I only find time to study. 


10 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


Those are all my marketable accomplish- 
ments, for I am too wise to believe that my one 
talent, by which I fondly hope to earn fame and 
fortune some day, would be of any pecuniary 
value to me now. I do mean to make a great 
authoress some day. The girls at school always 
prophesied that I would make myself famous by 
my writing, and even Miss Ellis, who never 
praised any of us if she could help it, admitted 
that I had the talent if I only cultivated it. I 
mean to be a great novelist, to write books of 
absorbing interest and full of deep thoughts, 
that all the world will read and admire. 

What will ten years make of me, I wonder ? 
Shall I be the brilliant, talented, famous woman 
that I am looking forward to ? My highest ambi- 
tion is to become an intellectual power in the 
world, to win for myself a high place upon the 
ladder of fame which so few women scale. I 
wish I might give all my thoughts up to it at 
once, but I must first secure enough pupils to 
insure me a comfortable livelihood, and then I 
can set apart hours for self-culture. 

It does not make me at all homesick to look 
around my new home, a comfortably large, sun- 
shiny room, with my piano in one corner, 
another corner curtained off to hide my modest 
housekeeping appurtenances, my books, a few 
pictures, and my writing-desk. I am sure I 


A JOURNAL BEGUN. II 

shall enjoy my lonely life exceedingly. I am in 
a large boarding-house, but I shall not probably 
see much of my neighbors, as dinner is the only 
meal I will take at the public table. My break- 
fast I will prepare for myself, and my lunch I 
will take wherever it is most convenient. 

I am quite eager for to-morrow to come, that 
I may start out on my quest of fortune. Good 
night, dear journal. I shall not ramble on at 
such length very often, but I had so much to tell 
you to-night, so many thoughts and ambitions to 
share with you, that I forgot your pages were 
not inexhaustible. 

March 8. I did not realize how tired I was 
after all the excitement of yesterday, until I 
closed my journal and felt the reaction. It did 
not take me many moments to convert the piece 
of furniture, that in the daytime deceitfully sim- 
ulates a bookcase, into a bed, and I tumbled in 
to forget all my ambitions, and only remember 
that I was a tired, sleepy girl who needed a good 
night’s rest. It was really fun this morning to 
make my coffee over my tiny oil-stove, and 
while eating my solitary breakfast I laid my 
plans for the day. 

I had an appointment at eleven o’clock which 
I was hopeful might result in an immediate en- 
gagement, and I started in good season. I stood 
at the corner of the street for a few moments 


2 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


hesitating whether I should wait for a car or 
walk down. It was quite a long walk, but I 
had abundance of time, and so I economically 
resolved to save my car-fare, as, if my little purse 
should become exhausted before I had any way 
of replenishing its contents, I should find it 
rather a hard matter to subsist upon one meal a 
day. On my way I passed the church of which 
I am nominally a member, and which I attended 
during vacations. The rector was standing in 
the vestibule, looking anxiously up and down 
the street, while the bell was ringing its last 
strokes. 

“Oh, I am so glad to see you, Phyllis!” he 
exclaimed. “ I did not know what we should do 
for music this morning, for the organist has not 
come nor sent any substitute. You will play for 
us, will you not?” 

I pleaded my engagement, but Dr. Vincent 
overruled my objections, so I yielded, though 
I was conscious it was not making a very good 
beginning of my new life to fail in meeting my 
first appointment punctually. Short as the Len- 
ten service was, it necessarily delayed me half 
an hour, and I encountered a frown of disap- 
proval from the lady who looked up from the 
desk upon which lay a pile of business letters. 

“You are late. Miss Graham,” she remarked, 
glancing at the clock. 


A JOURNAL BEGUN. 


13 


I explained the reason of my delay, and a 
lady who was sitting by the window looked up 
at me with an expression of interest. 

“ Do you play the organ ?” she asked. ‘‘ Would 
you like to have a regular engagement as or- 
ganist? We are just looking for some one to 
take charge of the music in our mission chap- 
el, and though the salary is small, you might 
think it worth while to take the position.” 

Of course I was only too glad to accept. The 
practice would be of benefit to me, and then 
some time I might hear of an opportunity to 
obtain a position as organist in one of the large 
churches. I will not tell even you, dear journal, 
what the salary is, for it is so small that I am 
afraid I would be completely discouraged if I 
divided it by the number of services for which I 
have to play. First there is Sunday-school at 
nine o’clock, church at half-past ten, German 
Sunday-school at two, a preaching service in 
German at four, for which my predecessor al- 
ways played as a matter of kindness. I suppose I 
shall do the same, especially as it will help me 
keep up my German ; then there is a praise ser- 
vice at seven and a preaching service at half- 
past seven. Wednesday evening is prayer-meet- 
ing, and Friday is singing-school. Rather an 
onerous position when all its duties are counted 
up ; but I must be willing to begin with small 


14 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


things, and I suppose it is something to get any 
kind of a foothold in this busy city where every 
one is struggling for himself. 

Looking back over the events of the day, it 
seems strange that such a little matter as the 
decision between walking and riding down 
town should have been the means of getting me 
this position ; but so it was, for if I had not de- 
layed to play the organ for Dr. Vincent, and 
then given that as my excuse for tardiness, I 
might never have heard of this mission chapel. 
I had not missed my opportunity of pupils 
either, for a lady who had called at the Asso- 
ciation rooms to see me had left her address and 
a request that I would call. 

It was a handsome house, elegantly fur- 
nished, with every indication of luxury, and I 
felt as if I should be very fortunate to obtain 
pupils here. My references from my teachers 
were satisfactory and I was able to teach all the 
branches required, so I began to feel very hope- 
ful. The lady looked at me contemplatively for 
a few moments. 

“ You are very young,” she said in a disap- 
pointed tone. “ It is a great risk engaging any 
one who has had no experience in teaching.” 

“ But I frequently taught the younger pupils 
during my last year at school,” I said. 

^‘That was different though,” was the answer. 


A JOURNAL BEGUN. 


15 


“ There you had the authority of the teachers to 
sustain you, but here I should expect you to 
take full charge of the children during the four 
morning hours, and I cannot be annoyed with 
complaints about them. If you cannot manage 
them, you must not attempt the position. We 
might make a trial and see how you would suc- 
ceed. You know young teachers are often very 
glad to teach for nothing for several months, 
that they may acquire experience. Now you 
may undertake the education of my children for 
three months merely on trial, and if we find 
their progress is satisfactory, I will engage you 
then for a year.” 

I could hardly believe that this wealthy wo- 
man was really proposing to have me give her 
my services without any compensation for three 
months, and when I found that this was her 
intention, I quite positively declined to accept 
this kind offer. Anxious as I was for the posi- 
tion, I couid not afford to do this, and I told her 
so. With an evident appreciation of her own 
generosity that I did not share, she suggested 
that perhaps under the circumstances, consider- 
ing my high testimonials, she might waive a 
trial, and would engage me from the following 
Monday. She offered me half the salary that I 
am sure she has always had to pay heretofore, 
and when I accepted her terms, she added that 


i6 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


she would expect an hour every Saturday morn- 
ing spent exclusively upon the eldest child’s 
music. I suppose I was weak to yield to this 
extortion, but small as the sum is, it will pay 
my room-rent and car-fare. 

When I saw the long list of unemployed 
teachers on the books at the Association rooms 
this morning, I felt more willing to accept any 
opening that might be before me. 

I do hope that I shall like the children. I 
felt the least little bit lonely this evening when 
I came home to my empty room and realized 
that I had no dear auntie to listen to my story. 
It was quite a relief to think that I could scrib- 
ble my confidences between your broad, freckled 
covers, dear journal; and if you are not par- 
ticularly encouraging, at all events you do not 
throw cold water upon my ambitious hopes. I 
am rather tired, but I mean to have two hours of 
practice before I seek my bookcase-bed. 


NEW DUTIES. 


17 


CHAPTER II. 

NEW DUTIES. 

March 12. You have been neglected for 
three days, dear journal, but there was noth- 
ing specially interesting to record. Now as this 
is vSunday evening, and I have a little leisure, I 
will enjoy a chat with you. I began my duties 
as organist to-day. I was sorry to find out that 
it is a long, bleak walk across the city to the 
chapel, and one which I cannot avoid unless I 
am recklessly extravagant and take three cars. 
I find that it will be necessary to spend the 
greater part of the day there, for I really had 
scarcely time to-day between church and after- 
noon Sunday-school to rush home and eat a 
hurried lunch. 

The Sunday-school is very well attended, and 
I was quite interested in watching the bright, 
keen faces of the little street-arabs who com- 
posed a class just in front of the piano. The 
service was altogether new to me. It has hap- 
pened that I never attended any but the regular 
liturgical service of the church in which I was 
brought up, and the service to-day interested 
and shocked me. There was a short Scriptural 


Beside Still Waters. 


2 


1 8 BESIDE STILL WATERS. 

prayer, an invocation, I think they call it, a 
hymn, the reading of a chapter, and then the 
long prayer. This it was that shocked me, for 
after the set, stately phrases of the liturgical 
prayers, this seemed to me positively irreverent. 

The pastor is a young man who has but re- 
cently begun his work here, and whom I am not 
quite sure that I shall like. To-day his father, a 
gentle, venerable old man, conducted the service. 
The congregation was composed of the usual 
tenement-house population, plain, hard-working 
people, many of them showing in their faces 
the struggle of constant effort to provide daily 
bread. When the minister began his prayer I 
listened in amazed wonder. Instead of address- 
ing God as a mighty Creator and Supreme Ru- 
ler, and praying in a general way for the general 
needs of humanity, he prayed as if God was a 
very loving Father who was close to the very 
poorest and youngest. He just seemed to gather 
up all the needs and trials and temptations of 
these common people, in all their littleness and 
commonplaceness, and ask for help and strength 
for each one. I could imagine that each person 
would find some special petition in the prayer 
which represented his own homely need, and 
of course it must have been a great comfort to 
them to feel that they were being particularly 
thought of and recommended to God. 


NEW DUTIES. 


19 


But I do think it was irreverent. I am not 
just sure what I really believe. I like to think 
that I am a real heathen, making no pretensions 
to religion of any kind, but I suppose it is natu- 
ral that I should have a sort of belief in the God 
whom my aunt loves, and to whom I am sure 
she goes for help to bear her trials. I do be- 
lieve in her religion. I will recard it in your 
pages, dear journal, but she is the only one I 
have ever met, who made any pretensions to 
religion, who seemed really consistent. I de- 
test shams, and will not pretend to anything 
I do not believe in with all my heart and soul. 
Necessarily I sail under false colors, for people 
seem to take it for granted that, being a minis- 
ter’s niece, I must be better than ordinary peo- 
ple ; and as I am also a member of the church, 
that seems quite conclusive. I was confirmed 
five years ago, rather unexpectedly to myself. I 
came home for my vacation, and was told that 
confirmation was to be administered in our 
church, and as I was old enough. Dr. Vincent 
had added my name to the list. I remember 
hurrying to the church the following morning 
and presenting myself at the chancel rail. I had 
never read over the confirmation vows, and 
when I heard them I could not help thinking 
how solemn and binding they would be if they 
were really meant to be taken literally. 


20 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


When the trembling hands of the dear old 
bishop rested upon my head I did wish that 
somehow I might be better afterward ; but these 
momentary feelings were banished as soon as 
I went home, for uncle was sick, and auntie was 
very busy attending to his wants. She seized a 
moment in which to kiss me tenderly and mur- 
mur, “ God bless you, darling,” and then uncle’s 
voice was heard calling her impatiently, and she 
hurried away. I would have liked a little chance 
for a talk with her; I wanted to tell her how 
much I wished to be better now that I had been 
confirmed ; but it always seemed to fret uncle to 
have her sit down and talk to any one, so the 
opportunity never came, and after that vacation 
I never sought for it. 

I had fancied that the girls who were mem- 
bers of the church were not at all better or more 
honorable than the others, so I made up my 
mind they never really meant what they said 
when they took upon them their confirmation 
vows. Religion was merely a matter for Sun- 
day use, to be taken to church as one takes a 
prayer-book or hymnal. I have been confirmed 
in that belief by the people I have met ever 
since, and I can’t imagine that I shall ever have 
any reason to change it. 

To-day, to be sure, that minister prayed as if 
he felt very near God, but I suppose it was just 


NEW DUTIES. 


21 


his manner. What a vSweet, comforting thing it 
would be though, if one could honestly believe 
that God really loved her and cared about all 
the little troublesome things that worry one 
so. I fancy I was the only church-goer in all 
this houseful to-day, and this evening I hear 
music and singing in the parlor. I declined 
an invitation to join them, because I was very 
tired and wanted a quiet rest, but I hope Mrs. 
Nelson will not think I declined on the score 
of superior goqdness. I do n’t want to give any 
one such an impression for a moment, for I 
would n’t pretend to religion for anything. 
Good-night, my fidus Achates ; I must rest for 
my new duties to-morrow. 

March 13. I am thoroughly tired to-night, 
and just a little bit discouraged about my 
new pupils. I am very fond of good lovable 
children, and even of mischievous ones, but I 
never saw any little ones quite like these four 
Barnard children. While I was waiting in the 
parlor this morning the nurse looked in with a 
flushed, indignant face. 

“And you ’re the new governess, I suppose,” 
she said, not unkindly. “Well, I’m sorry for 
you from the bottom of my heart, for it ’s no 
slip of a girl that those children need, but a man 
that ’s able to make them stand around. I ’ve 
just been giving warning to the mistress, for I 


22 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


couldn’t stand their tricks any longer. They 
filled my trunk with water last night, and it ’s 
ruined entirely my things are ; but all the mis- 
tress did was to laugh when I told her. I ’ll 
stand no such treatment if I do have to work for 
my living.” 

I was growing uneasy lest Mrs. Barnard 
might hear these confidences, and blame me 
for listening to them, but at the sound of shrill 
childish voices in the hall above the nurse 
retreated. No wonder my heart sank at the 
thought of the lawless pupils I must manage 
unaided by parental authority. I mustered up 
my courage as the children entered the parlor, 
and determined that they should not suspect 
that I was afraid of them. First came an un- 
attractive girl of twelve, who was introduced to 
me as Florence, then two brothers, Walter and 
Percy, whose ages might have been eight and 
ten years, and a little girl of some six years who 
was still called Baby. They responded to my 
greeting with a prolonged stare, and not even 
Baby could be induced to speak. 

“Now you may show Miss Graham the 
schoolroom and tell her what you have been 
studying,” Mrs. Barnard said, after giving me 
some brief directions. “ Be good children, and 
don’t quarrel or plague Baby.” 

As we left the room, Walter obeyed his mo- 


NEW DUTIES. 


23 


ther’s last injunction by snapping his fingers in 
the little girl’s face, and she broke out in a 
fretful wail. Mrs. Barnard came to the foot of 
the stairs and called after us in an annoyed 
tone, 

‘‘Baby, what is the matter? Miss Graham, 
can you not prevent the child from being teased 
the very first thing?” 

The color rushed to my cheeks, for the tone 
in which these words were uttered made them 
seem a reproof to me, and I felt as if I already 
repented of my bargain. The schoolroom was 
large and pleasant, and I was glad it was at the 
top of the house, where Mrs. Barnard could not 
hear all the children’s altercations. The school- 
books were lying in a large drawer in a chaotic 
heap, with tom, ink-stained leaves, missing cov- 
ers, and a general air of abuse. It was no easy 
task to find out what the children had studied, 
for they all professed complete ignorance of 
the place where they had stopped when their 
last teacher left them, and upon questioning 
them a little I found that a review from the be- 
ginning of the text-books would be the most 
desirable plan to pursue. I thought the four 
long hours would never pass. I tried to be 
firm and dignified and assert my authority, but 
it was evident that the children had no idea of 
respect even for their parents, and they did not 


24 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


hesitate to decline obeying whenever they felt 
so disposed. Walter and Percy seemed to find 
their chief occupation in teasing Baby, who is a 
most peevish child, and will wail on the slight- 
est provocation, and when I tried to appeal to 
the gallantry which I had believed was an in- 
stinct in every boy, Walter stared at me and 
queried insolently, “What are you giving us 
anyhow ?” 

By the time the clock struck one I was 
tempted to follow the nurse’s example and give 
warning, but I made up my mind that I would 
not be so easily conquered by discouragement, 
and I would wait at least until I had a prospect 
of more pupils before I gave these up. I was 
thoroughly tired at the end of my morning’s 
work, for besides the really hard work of trying 
to teach these restless little mortals anything, I 
had been nervous all the time lest Mrs. Barnard 
should come up and reprove me again for the 
lack of order. 

“ Did you behave this way with your last 
teacher?” I asked reprovingly; and with a loud 
laugh Percy answered, “ I should say so. We 
did as we pleased with the old thing, and we 
inked her face if she said anything.” 

Perhaps after all the confusion was not 
greater than it had been under previous rule. I 
tried to practise when I got home, but I was too 


NEW DUTIES. 


25 


tired and had to rest till the hour came for little 
Kitty Nelson’s daily music lesson. She is a 
bright, teachable child, and I really enjoyed her 
lesson after my turbulent morning. I meant to 
study this evening, but I am afraid I shall not be 
able to do much till my morning pupils are less 
tiresome. I will go to bed and forget all these 
things that are trying me so, and dream of the 
future and all it holds for me. Good-night, dear 
journal. 

March 22. More than a week has passed 
since I have had time or inclination to write 
anything. I am not discouraged at all, only I 
find life is not quite the triumphant progress 
that I had thought it to be. To live (and by 
that I mean supplying one’s self simply with the 
necessaries of life) requires hard work, and it is 
not the easiest thing in the world to obtain 
pupils when one is without influence. It is up- 
hill work, but I will not be dismayed. I write 
bright, cheerful letters to dear auntie. What- 
ever happens, I am determined never to burden 
her with my worries. I will bear them alone. 
I do not mind the work, though my morning 
hours are as long and exhausting as they were 
at first, but I do regret that my plans for self- 
culture have to be more or less laid aside. I am 
too tired to study much after I have been teach- 
ing most of the day, and so my little leisure slips 


26 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


away unimproved. I do manage to get a little 
systematic practice, and I am taking a daily les- 
son in Spanish from a gentleman who teaches in 
the house and is very anxious to acquire a better 
knowledge of English, but there are so many 
plans I have to lay aside. 

Oh, I do so long to make the very most of 
myself, and it chafes and frets me to have to 
give up so much time to earning enough for 
just my daily needs. I do long to see auntie so 
often and have real good talks with her, but on 
the whole I am not at all homesick. Nothing is 
as hard for me to bear as perpetual fault-finding 
and ill-humor, and all dear aunt’s sweetness of 
disposition could not make up for uncle’s ner- 
vousness. I do mean to be always bright and 
cheerful, so that people will like to have me 
about instead of looking on me as a cross. 

I was so pleased to-day when Mrs. Nelson 
called me “a ray of sunshine.” She said I did 
not know how often I brightened her up by 
coming in to say a cheery, pleasant word. I am 
so glad, for I have often pitied her for having to 
go on day after day in such a treadmill routine, 
without any great ambitions to whose fulfilment 
she can look forward when she is discouraged 
with the present. It is very pleasant to be liked. 
I believe that is one of my ambitions too. 


SCHOOL TRIALS. 


27 


CHAPTER III. 

SCHOOL TRIALS. 

April 14. You were all dusty to-night, dear 
old journal, when I took you down from the 
shelf. I have not written because my days have 
been decidedly monotonous. Every morning I 
spend four unhappy hours with the Barnard 
children. I was congratulating myself that I 
had really begun to interest them in their stud- 
ies, and I actually believed that I had some 
control over the little imps. I was completely 
undeceived to-day, however. Just as I entered 
the house this morning I saw Mrs. Barnard in 
her street costume bidding good-by to the chil- 
dren, and I heard her say that she would not 
come home till after lunch. 

As soon as I reached the schoolroom the 
boys petitioned for a holiday, saying that their 
mother would never know the difference, and 
that I might as well go, for they did not intend 
to touch their books. Of course I would not 
agree to this proposal, though I would have 
been as delighted as the boys themselves to 
have escaped. They apparently yielded their 
point when I persistently refused the demanded 


28 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


holiday, and as they sat down at the table I 
walked into the large, dark closet which opens 
into the room to hang up my hat. As I turned 
my back to the children for a moment, the boys 
bounded from their places with a shriek of tri- 
umph, and slamming the door, locked me in. 

I was furiously angry, but realizing that I was 
completely at their mercy I controlled my tem- 
per, and as soon as I could make my voice heard 
through the shouts of laughter in which Flor- 
ence and Baby heartily joined, I calmly de- 
manded that they should open the door. They 
greeted this demand with the most hilarious 
demonstrations of delight. 

“Will you promise to go right home and not 
bother us with any more lessons to-day if we do 
let you out?” asked Percy. I would not yield, 
even to procure my freedom, and Percy shouted, 

“All right. Miss Contrary. You can stay 
there till mamma comes home now, and see 
what she ’ll say to you for letting yourself be 
locked up. You ’ll catch it. Now I ’ll give you 
one more chance, and then we ’ll go down stairs 
and lock the schoolroom door, so Ann can’t let 
you out. Will you give us a holiday?” 

“ No,” I said firmly, wondering whether the 
children would really dare to do as Percy had 
threatened, I need not have doubted that they 
were fully equal to any piece of mischief. 


SCHOOL TRIALS. 


29 


There was a hurried exit from the room, a 
banging of the door and turning of the key in 
the lock, and I heard the noisy footsteps going 
down stairs and realized that I was indeed a 
prisoner. I was so angry that I burst into a pas- 
sion of tears as I recognized my helplessness, but 
crying only made my head ache, so I desisted 
after a time and determined to bear my lengthy 
imprisonment as philosophically as I could. 

It was a long one indeed. Wearily as the 
hands of the clock dragged their way around the 
dial when I was teaching, the hours seemed 
interminable now. The lunch-bell rang at last, 
and I was both faint and hungry, but my tyrants 
did not come up stairs to release me till they 
had finished their meal. I stalked but in silent 
indignation when at last the key was turned, but 
I felt as if I did not look very dignified in spite 
of my efforts, for my hair was ruffled, my face 
flushed, and the children’s observing eyes doubt- 
less detected traces of tears upon my cheeks. 
I spoke no word, but put on my hat and took my 
departure in stern silence. I think it awed the 
children more than any outbreak of anger could 
have done, for they stood and regarded me curi- 
ously in a subdued way, doubtless wondering 
what I meant to do. I have only just cooled 
off enough to think the matter over calmly. 

My first impulse was to send Mrs. Barnard a 


30 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


note, telling her that nothing would induce me 
to teach her children another hour, for they 
were wholly unmanageable and the worst chil- 
dren in the world. It relieved my mind to plan 
this letter, but now that my indignation has sub- 
sided a little I see that I cannot afford to do it. 
It is too late in the year to hope to get other 
pupils for the morning hours, and I cannot 
afford to have so much idle time upon my hands, 
glad as I should be to have it for study, t 
should only injure myself, for Mrs. Barnard 
could readily fill my place. Moreover, if I left 
her in a fit of anger she would of course with- 
hold from me any satisfactory reference as to 
my capabilities as a teacher. Bitter as the pill 
was, I must swallow it without a grimace, and 
if I complained of the children’s treatment I 
should most truly, as Percy said, “catch it” for 
not having them under better control. 

My afternoons are pretty well filled up now, 
for I have several music scholars, and only my 
evenings are free, that is, such of them as I do 
not spend at the mission chapel. I can accom- 
plish so little even when I do sit down to spend 
an evening in study, that I think I might as well 
enjoy myself when I have an opportunity. 

I have been to the opera three times lately 
with a young doctor who boards in the house, 
and I enjoyed myself so much. I sometimes 


SCHOOL TRIALS. 


31 


wonder whether every one enjoys things as in- 
tensely as I do. I just enjoy things with every 
fibre of my body, and anything I am at all inter- 
ested in I throw myself into with all my heart 
and soul. I do n’t believe I should enjoy being 
one of those calm, equable people who never go 
to extremes, even if I could change my nature. 

Such a funny question as Mr. Vernon, the 
young minister at the chapel, asked me this 
evening. He walked home with me after 
prayer-meeting, and I had been rattling off a 
perfect string of nonsense, when one of those 
little silences that come once in a while fell 
between us, and we walked a few steps without 
speaking. I had noticed that he had been a lit- 
tle preoccupied all the way, and now he looked 
so thoughtful that I rallied him laughingly. 

“ What are you thinking about, Mr. Vernon?” 
I asked. “ Surely nothing that I have been say- 
ing has called up that thoughtful look.” 

‘‘ May I tell you what I have been thinking 
of?” he said in response; and when I assented 
he went on : 

“ I have been wondering whether you were a 
Christian, Miss Graham.” 

I was so astonished that I positively stood 
still for a moment. I was half angry too, 
strangely inconsistent as it may seem. I do n’t 
want to be thought religious, and disclaim even 


32 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


to myself any pretensions to goodness, and yet 
it annoyed me to have any one question whether 
or not I was a Christian. 

“You rather took my breath away, your 
question was so startling,” I said, recovering 
my breath and my good temper at the same 
moment. “I suppose I can say ‘yes,’ for I have 
been a member of the church ever since I was a 
child ; but to be perfectly candid with you, I will 
add that I wish I was not.” 

“ Why, Miss Graham !” 

I laughed merrily at the shocked surprise in 
Mr. Vernon’s face. 

“ It was my turn to surprise you then, was it 
not?” I asked. “ I will be quite frank with you, 
Mr. Vernon, if you will believe that I speak 
quite impersonally. I do not wish to be a 
church member because I have seen so few 
whom I believed to be sincere except my 
aunt. I have been thrown in close contact 
with members of the church, and it never 
seemed to make their lives any different, and 
their religion was often used merely as a cloak 
to secure selfish ends. I suppose I do believe in 
a God. I am not quite sure whether I believe in 
the Bible or not. My aunt believes in it and 
I believe in her. I think that expresses the 
amount of my religious belief quite clearly. 
Now I do n’t want to talk about the matter, for 


SCHOOL TRIALS. 


33 


all the arguments you could bring up would not 
have the effect upon me that living arguments 
have had, and I must refuse to discuss a matter 
that no amount of discussion could alter. You 
see I am taking it for granted that you are 
about to do your professional duty towards me 
as a member of your congregation and not 
merely a salaried officer.” 

We had reached home by this time, and I 
invited Mr. Vernon to come in, but he declined. 

“ No, since you so positively refuse to let me 
talk to you upon the one subject which is in my 
thoughts to-night. At least you will not refuse 
me permission to pray that you may see the 
beauty of the one perfect Example instead of 
being repelled by the imperfect copies, which I 
grant you are but poor and feeble imitations.” 

Do n’t waste the best passage of next Sun- 
day’s sermon upon such an unappreciative lis- 
tener,” I laughed, but I repented of my ill-timed 
jest as he turned away with a disappointed, hurt 
look in his face. 

I can’t bear to wound people’s feelings and I 
will tell him I am sorry the next time I see him, 
but there was not any use in pretending to take 
anything of the kind seriously. 

I wonder what people ever become ministers 
for. I should think so many other professions 
might be far more enjoyable and give an ambi- 
3 


BeBide Still Waters. 


34 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


tious man opportunities of distinguishing himself 
that a minister could scarcely have. I suppose if 
I asked Mr. Vernon what influenced him to make 
this choice, he would probably answer me in a 
proper professional way that would not tell me 
any more than I knew before. 

I have no doubt I would have shocked him 
still more if I had told that I should never think 
of going to church if I did not have to play the 
organ. I make the services as improving as I 
can. I follow the chapters in my French Testa- 
ment and try to translate the sermon into that 
language, but I suppose that would not accord 
with Mr. Vernon’s ideas of improving the ser- 
vices if he knew it. 

The clock is striking eleven. I must put you 
back on your shelf, old journal ; good-night. 


BEGINNING AUTHORSHIP. 


35 


CHAPTER IV. 

BEGINNING AUTHORSHIP. 

May 1 7. I think I know why I have always 
given up my journals after the first two or three 
weeks. It was because just as soon as I stopped 
writing in them regularly every day I thought 
it was of no use to keep on. This time, even 
if three or four months go by without my wri- 
ting a word on these pages, I will not give up, 
but will just scribble whenever I feel like it 
or have something worth writing. 

Nothing much has happened during the last 
month. I have had more to do, for my class of 
pupils has been increasing in a very encouraging 
way, and I can look forward to relinquishing 
Mrs. Barnard’s children, when the summer vaca- 
tion begins, with the assurance that even if I 
should fail to fill those hours I could get along 
comfortably. I am glad, for one hour there tires 
me more than all the rest of my lessons put to- 
gether. I use all my odds and ends of time for 
study, but I have been giving up my evenings 
to enjoyment lately. I am really becoming 
quite gay. Almost every evening I have some 
pleasure engagement, and it is very flattering to 


36 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


be sought after as an acquisition to any gather- 
ing. I suppose it is because I can play and 
dance and rattle off ridiculous nothings, that 
people like to be with me. 

I do believe I am growing conceited, dear 
journal. I do n’t mind confessing it to you, for I 
know you wont scold me for it. I do n’t wonder 
at it, for so many flattering speeches are made 
and so many complimentary remarks repeated 
to me, that it is enough to turn a wiser head 
than my foolish one. This is a very delightful, 
appreciative world to live in, and I am very 
happy. I am not really satisfied, for that I shall 
never be until I reach the height of my ambi- 
tion and become famous ; but for the present I 
might as well enjoy the good times that come to 
me ; and how I do enjoy each one of them ! I 
rarely have a lonely or unhappy moment. 

Just once in a while I v/ish, shall I tell you 
what, dear journal? When I see a real home, 
where the children seem to lead such a happy, 
sheltered life, where the father and mother are 
both tender and thoughtful of their happiness, I 
think I would give anything in the world to be a 
member of such a family circle. In some ways 
it is very pleasant to lead an independent life, 
guided by one’s own judgment — or impulses, as 
I sometimes think it is in my case — and untram- 
melled by any restrictions ; but 1 think I would 


BEGINNING AUTHORSHIP. 


37 


gladly give up my independence to be guided 
by some one who really loved me and cared 
for my best good. 

Well, one can’t have everything, and after all 
there are doubtless any number of heartaches 
and bickerings that I know nothing about in 
these pleasant homes. Probably nobody ever 
knew how unhappy our home used to be, or 
what a self-sacrificing life aunt’s has always 
been. Uncle’s nerves have been a Moloch be- 
fore which everything has been sacrificed re- 
lentlessly. I am so glad that auntie can find so 
much comfort in her Bible and prayers, because 
she has nothing else to help her bear all her 
trials. There is no doubt that everything is real 
to her, and if anything could make me believe 
in the reality of religion, it would be her consist- 
ent life ; but she is only one out of the hundreds 
who but pretend to goodness. 

To-night was prayer-meeting night again. 
What dreary things those meetings are, and it 
is not Mr. Vernon’s fault either, for he really 
tries to make them interesting; but he has no 
one to help him, for only two or three men ever 
put in an appearance, and not a word will they 
say. The singing is the dreariest farce of all, 
for though the dozen or so of elderly women 
that always come do make an effort to sing, the 
effect is anything but pleasant, as they haven’t 


38 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


strong voices at the best. I do wish I could sing. 
Unfortunately I have n’t any voice at all, so I 
can’t improve matters. Mr. Vernon will give 
out a triumphant, jubilant hymn, but after we 
have sung it a discouraged tone creeps into his 
voice, and the rest of the service isn’t particu- 
larly cheerful, to say the least. I really am 
sorry for him sometimes, and I never make fun 
of his earnest efforts to create a blaze out of 
such damp material. 

He almost always walks home with me after 
church^but I will never let him talk to me in a 
professional strain. He needn’t feel the least 
responsibility about me, and I should think his 
mind must need a reaction after continually 
preaching to those poor people at the chapel. 
What is the use of it all anyway? I privately 
think, though I don’t tell Mr. Vernon this of 
course, that they would be much better off at 
home resting themselves after their hard week’s 
work, than sitting in the dreary little chapel, 
listening to words that surely don’t convey 
much meaning to their minds. I suppose it is 
part of his professional duty to be interested in 
all those stupid people, and of course it would 
take all the heart out of his work if he believed 
it were useless, but it seems to me a great waste 
of energy. 

July I. I cannot believe that so much time 


BEGINNING AUTHORSHIP. 


39 


has really passed since I opened your pages last, 
old journal, but I really have not had time to sit 
down and write before, and to-night I am almost 
too tired, but I shall have time to rest now for- a 
little while. To-day my summer vacation of two 
months begins, and until the first of September 
I am free, excepting Kitty Nelson’s daily lesson. 
I have been overdoing lately, and the hot 
weather has made me feel more languid and 
weak than I have ever been before. After a day 
of constant teaching, I suppose I should have 
taken the evenings for rest, but I could not 
bring myself to refuse all the pleasant times 
that were waiting for me, and so I have been 
using up my strength in a reckless way. Like 
the prudent little ant, I have saved up enough 
for my days of enforced idleness, so I can spend 
these two months as I will. I will rest with all 
my might for two or three days, and then what 
do you think I am going to do, dear journal? I 
am going to write the novel which will be my 
first stepping-stone to fame. I just thrill all over 
at the thought that I shall some day hold in my 
hand a book of my own creation, my own brain 
child ! I am very eager to begin my work, but 
if I would do myself justice I must wait till this 
extreme weariness is over. Mr. and Mrs. Bar- 
nard are going to Europe, and they have decided 
to place the children in a boarding-school while 


40 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


they are absent. I think that Mrs. Barnard 
thought this intelligence would distress me 
greatly, but I could hardly keep from an open 
expression of delight. She complimented me 
very highly, and said the children had never 
been under such good control, nor advanced so 
rapidly, with any of their previous teachers. I 
am glad that she feels as if they had progressed, 
for the time I have spent with them has been 
anything but satisfactory to me. I think a 
boarding-school would be the best place for 
them, for they would be made to obey there, and 
they could learn easily enough, if they were 
under any kind of discipline. 

I am glad that I have bade them farewell, at 
all events, and I feel like congratulating myself 
on my perseverance, for the children said that 
no other teacher had ever stayed over two 
months. I think I have grown quite aged in 
my trying experiences, and I am not afraid that 
my youth will be any objection next fall. 

I am so full of enthusiasm over my novel. 
Oh, dear journal, what can be lovelier than to be 
young and strong, full of ambition and energy 
and the triumphant feeling that success awaits 
one in the future? I feel so hopeful and self- 
reliant, so sure that I shall succeed in my plans. 
I cannot even imagine settling down to a com- 
monplace life, with nothing but the monotonous 


BEGINNING AUTHORSHIP. 


41 


roimd of drudgery that constitutes the lives of 
so many women. Perhaps I shall not write in 
you again till my novel is finished. I shall have 
no thoughts nor time for anything else when 
I once begin. Till then, if it shall be so, good- 
by. 

August 29. Finished at last! I look at that 
great pile of neatly-copied manuscript on my 
desk, and have an eerie feeling that it is the 
work of some enchantment rather than the re- 
sult of my own patient labor. I have spent the 
happiest weeks of my life over this work. I 
have scarcely taken time to eat or sleep, I have 
worked so feverishly over it ; and many a time 
my brain has been so full of eager thoughts 
that I have risen from my bed and worked for 
two or three hours, and then gone back to sleep 
till morning. It has all seemed reality to me, 
and I feel quite worn out with all the varying 
emotions which have been my own while I was 
portraying them. How I love to write 1 I wish 
I need do nothing else, but unless this novel 
should be immediately successful, in a financial 
as well as a literary way, I must give the best of 
my time to teaching for some years to come. If 
I could lift up but a corner of the veil which 
hides the future from me, and see what recep- 
tion awaits my brain child ! I have worked rap- 
idly, I know, to have completed and copied so 


42 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


large a work in eight short weeks, but most of 
the real brain work has been done slowly during 
the past few months, and I had nothing to do 
but commit my thoughts to paper now. 

Now I must rest till Monday, and let my 
mind and nerves react from the strain I have 
been putting upon them, or I shall not be fit 
to begin work. Mrs. Nelson tells me that I look 
quite worn out. I have been feeling the enerva- 
ting effects of the hot weather we have been 
having, but I shall soon be rested and refreshed 
now. I shall not have much to do before the 
third week in September, so I will be quite 
myself by that time. Good-night, dear journal, 
I wish you were human and could be a little 
sympathetic to-night when I am so happy. No- 
body knows what I have been doing, so I cannot 
expect any sympathy, but I am so glad, so glad, 
that I want some one to be glad with me. 

September 15. I surely ought not to have 
neglected writing so long when I have had such 
good fortune to record. I am so glad now that 
I persevered with those dreadful children and 
never told their mother my candid opinion 
about them. It seems that Mrs. Barnard spoke 
so highly of me to her friends that I am in- 
debted to her for three new families, w'hich 
occupy the greater part of my day and pay roy- 
ally, that is, in comparison to Mrs. Barnard’s 


BEGINNING AUTHORSHIP. 


43 


meagre salary. Now my time is well and profit- 
ably filled and the children are all very lovable 
and intelligent. I am so fortunate to have my 
hours engaged. There are two teachers board- 
ing here in the house, some ten years older than 
I am, with long experience in teaching, who find 
it very difficult to get pupils, and here they have 
just come to me, almost without seeking, inex- 
perienced girl that I am. 

My beloved novel is at the publishers’ await- 
ing their verdict. I am trying to wait very 
patiently, but it is hard work. Sometimes I am 
in a fever of impatience and can scarcely re- 
strain myself from going and inquiring child- 
ishly, “ How soon can I know?” 

Suppose it should be rejected ! Should I 
ever have the courage to write a line again? 
Yes, yes. I do not believe a hundred rebuffs 
could really discourage me utterly, but my heart 
is so bound up in this book that I cannot believe 
it will be a failure. It is different from most of 
the novels I have read, and so I cannot judge of 
it by comparison with others, but I am sure it 
must be worthy of seeing the light. I must 
school myself to patience and wait. 

October i. I have indeed had to “let pa- 
tience have her perfect work.” A whole month 
I have waited for the letter from the publishers, 
and when I came home every evening my heart 


44 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


beat faster as I looked over my letters to see if 
perhaps the fateful letter was among them. 

To-night it came, and quivering with eager- 
ness I left the dinner table and' went up stairs, 
that I might be alone to read the contents. I 
was so intensely excited that I could hardly 
open the envelope with my trembling fingers, 
and the first time I read over the letter I could 
not understand it. I began it once more. 

It was a kind letter, though the publisher 
spoke very frankly about the faults of the novel. 
It was somewhat crude, though not as much so 
as might have been expected from the youth 
and inexperience of the writer. Here and there 
he marked a fault of construction, but on the 
whole it showed marked originality and consid- 
erable cleverness in executing a plot which, 
although hackneyed in itself, was treated in 
such a manner that it seemed new. He felt 
justified in offering to publish it. 

I wonder if I shall ever be quite as happy 
again in all my life as I was when I fairly took 
in the tenor of the letter. I fancy it was one of 
those supreme moments which come only once 
in one’s lifetime. I am glad I stopped to enjoy 
that thoroughly before I read the rest of the let- 
ter, for that quieted my raptures. 

In my ignorance I had never thought that 
an author had anything to do, after a book 


BEGINNING AUTHORSHIP. 


45 


was accepted, but await liberal checks sent 
from time to time by the publishers; but on 
reading the rest of the letter I saw that an esti- 
mate was made of the cost, and the part that 
I must bear was a small fortune to me. It 
would mean at least eight months of the closest 
economy and miserly hoarding to save up that 
sum, but I did not shrink from the self-denial 
it involved. All I thought of was the necessary 
delay before the work could be begun. 

It is not so hard, though, now to wait, when 
I am sure of acceptance. If I had had to wait 
eight months in uncertainty I do not think I 
could have borne it. I shall become a miser 
now in good earnest. I will fill my evening 
hours with pupils if I can, that I may accumu- 
late money faster. 

What do I care for rest, pleasure, anything 
compared with ambition? Will it not be ample 
repayment for all exertion and privation when I 
hold in my own hands my own book, no longer 
a mere fancy flitting through my brain, but a 
real thing that may open up a glorious vista 
of possibilities to me ? 

Good night, dear journal. My dreams will 
be happy ones, for I shall sleep with this let- 
ter under my pillow. 


46 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


CHAPTER V. 

CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEAR. 

December 13. I haven’t had a single inter- 
esting thing to tell you, old friend, and two or 
three times I have been decidedly blue and dis- 
couraged — an unusual experience for me — and 
then I would not write. Sometimes it seems as 
if everything in the way of outward circum- 
stances was against me, and even living was 
a hand-to-hand fight with the world. 

So many girls of my age have such a care- 
free, irresponsible time, with every wish grati- 
fied and nothing to do but enjoy themselves; 
and if they choose to study or improve them- 
selves, they can have time and opportunity to do 
anything they like. I can’t even imagine what 
it would seem like to have any one to go to and 
ask for what I needed, knowing that he would 
willingly and lovingly provide for me. Still I 
am no worse off than thousands of others in this 
great city, and I am better off than many, be- 
cause I can take care of myself comfortably, and 
there are some who fail in doing even that. 

My little hoard is accumulating rapidly and 
I am as economical as possible, so that this 
tedious time of waiting may be shortened. My 


CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEAR. 47 

breakfast and lunch are frugal as an anchorite’s, 
and when I have time I walk any distance, no 
matter what the weather, that I may save the 
car-fare. I shall have to be a little extravagant 
at Christmas, for I want to send auntie and the 
children some pretty, useful presents. I know 
of so many things they need; but I will work 
harder afterward to make up for the outlay. 
Except the evenings I am engaged at the 
chapel, I teach till nearly ten o’clock. I have 
pupils who are engaged through the day, and 
are very glad to come here in the evenings 
and take their lessons. 

My days are very full now. Four mornings 
in the week I exchange English for Spanish 
and Italian lessons, and by carrying a grammar 
around in my muff, I manage to get a good deal 
of study in odds and ends of time. I do love to 
study, and I am glad I can manage to improve 
myself a little while I am so busy. I have 
almost half the money saved up now for the 
publication of my novel, and it encourages me 
to keep on saving. Everybody grumbles about 
my evenings being so occupied, and to confess 
the truth, I should like now and then to have 
a little pleasure ; but when I look forward to the 
happiness in store for me at the end of these 
months of hard work and scrimping, I am con- 
tent to give up little enjoyments now. 


48 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


I am becoming a little restless and dissatis- 
fied as Christmas approaches. It is a time when 
one needs to be a member of a home circle to 
fully enter into the spirit of the holiday; and 
this is a lonely life of mine; it touches other 
lives at every turn, but it does not enter into 
nor become a part of any. Ah, well, I have my 
ambitions and they are to me what love and real 
companionship are to others. 

December 24. Christmas eve, and I am half 
infected by little Kittle Nelson’s enthusiasm 
about the delightful, mysterious packages that 
have been arriving all day. We all asked Mrs. 
Nelson to keep any parcels that came to-day 
until to-morrow, when we would open them at 
the same time, and thus miss the loneliness of 
an individual Christmas in the solitude of our 
own rooms. It was prayer -meeting evening, 
and as usual Mr. Vernon came home with me. 
When we reached the doorstep, he said, 

I have a Christmas gift for you. May I 
come in and offer it to you, though it is one you 
may not care to accept?” 

I laughingly assured him that there was no 
danger of any Christmas gift coming amiss, and 
ushered him into the little reception-room, which 
I knew would be deserted for the more cheerful 
parlors above at that hour in the evening. 

I threw aside my heavy cloak and turned up 


CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEAR. 49 

the dim light till the room was bright. As I 
turned towards Mr. Vernon with a laughing re- 
mark, something in his face startled me, and by 
a sudden intuition I knew what was coming. 
How could I prevent it, I thought in a fright- 
ened way, but I had no opportunity. Before I 
could speak, he said, looking down in my face 
with an expression that made my eyes drop, 

“ Can you not guess what it is I would offer 
you for a Christmas present? Can you not 
accept it?” 

‘^Oh, I am so ’sorry,” I cried impetuously, 
with swift tears rushing to my eyes. I am so 
sorry, but indeed I never thought of such a 
thing. I did not mean to act in any way to 
make you think of this. Wont you forgive me 
if I did, for indeed I am so sorry?” 

'‘I have nothing to forgive,” he answered 
very gently. ‘Wou need not blame yourself, 
for I knew you were not intending to make 
yourself so lovable and attractive that I could 
not keep myself from this. I had hardly dared 
let myself hope that you could care for any one 
who was so different from you in every way, and 
yet I could not keep from asking you at least. 
Are you sure you cannot think differently after 
a time ? Perhaps I have startled you by speak- 
ing so suddenly. I forgot that you knew noth- 
ing of what I have been thinking about for 
4 


Beside Still Waters. 


50 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


weeks. If love could make you happy, you 
need not be afraid to trust your life to me.” 

“Will you think I am perfectly heartless if I 
tell you that there is only one thing in this 
world that can make me happy?” I answered. 
“ I want to be a great writer some day, and that 
is all I plan for or care about. There is not 
room in my heart for any other feeling, and 
ambition is the ruling passion in my life. I 
cannot imagine letting anything else take its 
place. Nothing else could satisfy me. I am so 
sorry. Indeed I would not say anything to 
hurt you if I could help it, but I know I could 
never feel as you want to have me, and it is 
better to tell you so than have you think dif- 
ferently.” 

“You have not learned to know yourself yet,” 
Mr. Vernon answered, and I fancied there was 
almost a pitying smile in his eyes as he looked 
wistfully at me. “Your loving, impulsive na- 
ture could never be satisfied with an ambition 
which, if gratified, would only satisfy your in- 
tellect. You have too much heart for that, 
though you do not admit it. But — just for this 
once let me speak — the fullest and tenderest 
human love will never entirely satisfy you. Not 
until your life is ‘ hid with Christ in God ’ will 
your restless yearnings be wholly gratified. I 
know you do not feel your need now, but I pray 


CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEAR. 5 1 

that God’s richest gift, his boundless love, may 
come to your heart as a Christmas blessing.” 

My tears were still falling, and I could not 
trust my voice to speak. 

“ Do n’t let me go away thinking that I have 
pained you,” he went on gently. “ I see it is not 
for me to enter into your life, and I know how 
foolish it was in me to hope it, but I do n’t want 
your heart to be sore over my disappointment. 
Forget all that I have said and let us just meet 
as friends. We shall be thrown together in our 
work at the ehapel, and do n’t let me think that 
what I have said to-night will make you uncom- 
fortable. I shall never allude to it or remind 
you of it in any way. Good-by !” 

I closed the door after him, and came quietly 
up the back way, that I might not pass the par- 
lor, to my room. I threw myself down and had 
a good cry, why, I could not tell. I honestly 
do n’t feel a bit elated over the fact that I have 
had a proposal, that a good man has cared 
enough for me to ask me to share his life. I am 
only so sorry that I did not know what he was 
thinking of, that I might have spared him the 
pain of the refusal. I cannot imagine how girls 
can wilfully lead a man on when they eare noth- 
ing for him, and then boast of their sueeess. 
There was something in his words that moved 
me strangely. Is it time that ambition without 


52 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


love cannot gratify me ? Is it true that I shall 
never be satisfied without a real loving, living 
belief in the God who seems so far away from 
me now ? My life is nothing to him. I have to 
live it alone and unhelped, then why should I 
acknowledge his care? How can I believe in 
what is so unreal to me ? I will not worry my- 
self over these questions. I will bathe my face 
and eyes and put all troublesome thoughts away 
and go down to the parlor, where I shall forget 
everything but the present. 

December 25. I have had a pleasanter 
Christmas than I anticipated, after all. Mrs. 
Nelson would not hear of my eating breakfast 
in my room, but insisted that I should come 
down to her table. That made the day rather 
an exception to the ordinary run of common 
days, to begin with. After breakfast we ad- 
journed to the parlor and opened the parcels 
that had come for us, those who preferred to do 
so carrying theirs away to their rooms. I had 
only expected two or three trifling remem- 
brances from my pupils, so I was as delighted 
as a child over th*e great pile of mysterious bun- 
dles. It did seem as if every one I knew had 
remembered me most generously, and I am not 
old enough yet to have outgrown enjoying a 
gift most childishly. I wrote a long happy let- 
ter to auntie, enjoyed the bountiful Christmas 


CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEAR. 53 

dinner, and then the day’s pleasures were com- 
plete with an evening at the opera. I am so 
glad that I could send dear auntie some Christ- 
mas gifts, so that her day too might be a happy 
one. I did not tell auntie about the novel, 
though I was sorely tempted to when I wrote 
to-day. I will keep it for a surprise, and she 
shall know nothing about it till she opens the 
book and sees my name on the title page. 

January i. I did not think that I should 
not make another entry in my journal last year, 
but so it happened. I wonder what I shall have 
occasion to write of joy or sorrow in these pages 
before another year passes away. One can’t help 
being thoughtful on the threshold of a new 
year, for it may bring so much with it. 

Last night we had determined to dance the 
old year out and the new one in. It was almost 
twelve o’clock when we heard a church bell 
ringing, and some one suggested it was a watch- 
meeting that was being held in a little church 
on the next street. I don’t remember whose 
proposition it was that we should all go around 
to the church, but we agreed to it just for the 
novelty of the thing, and a few moments later 
we were all out in the clear white starlight on 
our way to the church. 

We were full of fun and nonsense, but we 
sobered down when we entered the church, for 


54 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


an air of solemnity pervaded the place. The 
minister, an earnest man whose words were im- 
pressive even though they might not be called 
eloquent, was concluding his remarks as we 
entered, and then a hymn followed. The hands 
on the large clock pointed to five minutes of 
twelve as the last verse was sung, and the min- 
ister said, “ In a few minutes this year will be 
gone, with its record of sins and mistakes, and 
the fair white page of a new year will be open 
before us. Let us spend these fleeting moments 
in prayer that the blood of the Lamb of God 
will cleanse the blots of the past, and that we 
may have new consecration with which to begin 
the coming year.” 

There was a profound silence as all present 
bowed their heads in prayer, and I could almost 
feel the earnestness of some of the worshippers. 
I am ashamed of my susceptibility and impul- 
siveness, but for a moment I actually almost 
believed in these things, and my heart cried out 
for something higher and purer than anything 
it had yet known. I had to call my common 
sense to the rescue. It all sounded beautiful, 
and the place and the hour made each word im. 
pressive, but how long would these things last ? 
Only till the words had died away into silence, 
and the church was left behind, and then people 
would go back to their commonplace lives, full 


CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEAR. 55 

of selfish striving and bickerings and jealousies, 
and all these solemn things would be laid aside 
again till Sunday. 

Try as hard as I might I could not leave 
these strange yearnings behind me when I left 
the church, nor could I regain the overflowing 
spirits with which I had begun the evening. I 
could not go back to the parlor to dance the new 
year well on its way, nor could I join again in 
the merry banter. I came up to my room in- 
stead, and knelt down beside the window where 
I could look up at the white stars and think. 

Are these things real ? I wanted to believe 
that they were, my desire amounted to an in- 
tense longing, for I fancied that it would be so 
restful to believe that God’s love brooded over 
us as tenderly as a mother’s love and care ; but 
how could it be anything but a hollow mockery 
when it never affected the lives of those who 
pretended to believe in it ? 

This soberness, I thought, was only a reaction 
from the high spirits which had run riot all 
day, and made me the gayest of the gay ; so giv- 
ing myself a good shaking mentally, I went to 
bed and to sleep. 

TJ;iis morning ushered in a perfect New 
Year’s day, clear and crisp, the streets in perfect 
condition for sleighing, and a bright sun which 
was not warm enough to melt the snow. The 


56 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


sleighs flew backward and forward all day, and 
the jingling of the bells made merry music. I 
half wished that I had accepted a friend’s invita- 
tion to receive calls with her, but after all I en- 
joyed the novelty of a quiet day at home, and 
had time for some good practice, which I always 
enjoy. This year will surely be the happiest of 
my life, since it will see the publication of my 
book. I wish I could anticipate a few months. 


WELCOME SURPRISES. 


57 


CHAPTER VI. 

WELCOME SURPRISES. 

March t. I wish you had eyes, dear jour- 
nal, that you could see the pile of money over 
which I am gloating with all the tenderness 
of a miser. At last my task is completed, and 
to-morrow I can take the money to the pub- 
lishers’ and know that my book will be begun. 
Only a little while now to be patient ! 

March 2. Work will be begun at once, the 
publisher says. I wonder what “ at once ” means. 

March 7. My birthday again, and how do 
you suppose I celebrated it? By reading the 
proofs of the first few pages of my novel. I 
think my happiness when I received them can 
only be excelled by the delight I shall feel when 
I hold the completed volume in my hands. It 
was such a delightful surprise to find the proofs 
awaiting me to-night, for I had anticipated at 
least two or three weeks’ delay. What a happy 
beginning to this new year of my life ! 

March 28. Don’t expect any more entries 
until I record that my novel is out. I am too 
busy and happy over the proofs to have a 
thought for anything else. 

May 4. My novel is out at last. I am sure 


58 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


that the moment I took it in my hands was a 
time of such intense happiness as I can hardly 
expect to feel again. I did feel so self-conscious 
as I came home ! I knew just how ridiculous it 
was, but it seemed as if every one who looked at 
me must know that I was an author, and that 
the package in my hand contained my first 
book. I did not wait to show it to any one, but 
came right up to my room, where I just sat and 
thrilled for an hour. How can people be happy 
who have not written books, or who do not look 
forward to it some day ? I do not envy any one 
in the world to-night. I would not exchange 
places even with those who are already famous 
in the literary world, for I think it is more de- 
lightful to have untried possibilities in the 
future than to have reached the place where one 
realizes her limitations, even if they are broad. 
I do so love to feel that my life is in my own 
hands, and I can make of it what I will. 

May 20. Dr. Vincent came to me this morn- 
ing and told me that the organist had suddenly 
left, and that it was necessary to find another 
person to take his place by the next Sunday. 
Could I take the organ? I was only too de- 
lighted to accept the offer very eagerly. I have 
never undertaken to use the pedals of a large 
church organ, and the music is very elaborate, 
but this is Tuesday, and I have several days to 


WELCOME SURPRISES. 


59 


practise before the Saturday night choir rehear- 
sal. I must arrange to take lessons at once. If I 
can only get through the first few Sundays satis- 
factorily, I am sure I can practise enough to feel 
at my ease and not dread failure. 

June 2. I felt like singing to myself, ^‘Lo, 
the conquering hero comes,” as I came home to- 
night tired but triumphant. I had spent every 
available moment this week in practice, and at 
last felt as if I had mastered the intricacies of 
the stops and pedals. I managed to get through 
choir practice without blundering very percepti- 
bly, but I must admit I was nervous this morn- 
ing when I put my foot on the first pedal and 
the organ sounded its preliminary rumble. 
However, I was not too frightened to know what 
I was doing, and so I had the pleasure to-night 
of being engaged as organist permanently. I 
am glad, for in the first plaee the salary is five 
times as great, the duties are not so arduous, and 
then the music is more interesting than just 
those simple hymn tunes which were of so little 
help to me in the way of practice. 

The young girl whom I sent to-day to the 
chapel as my substitute will be very glad to have 
the position, and as she lives in the neighbor- 
hood it will not be so hard for her as it was for 
me to attend all the services. I feel quite elated 
over my success. In fact I am tasting the sweets 


6o 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


of success in every way just now. I hear so 
many kind things said about my novel that it 
is hard to pretend to be modest when I am 
really intensely proud of it and thrill all over 
with delight at words of commendation about it. 
I have seen some book notices which have 
spoken well of it and of me, as having probable 
suceess when I ventured farther into the literary 
world, and when I am alone at night I read 
these words over and over again, till my ambi- 
tion becomes a perfect fever, and I long to keep 
on and on till I reach the topmost round in the 
ladder of fame. I was a little disappointed in 
auntie’s letter. She was pleased and surprised 
of course, but she said, “I hope some day my 
Phyllis’ pen may write something that the world 
shall be better for reading. A consecrated pen 
can do great good in the world, and your gift is 
one, dear child, that you may make of great ser- 
vice to the Master.” 

If. any one but auntie had written this, I 
should have been provoked ; as it was, I was dis- 
appointed. Would she like me to write a volume 
of sermons, I wonder? I don’t care about doing 
good in the world. I am willing to make people 
happier, and it is a little pet theory of mine, 
which I delight to put into practice, that it is 
every one’s duty to make all they come in con- 
tact with as happy as pleasant words and little 


WELCOME SURPRISES. 


6i 


kind actions can make them. There is n’t any 
use in going through the world looking as grum 
and cross as if there was not any sunshine in 
it; and sullenness is just as contagious as good 
humor. But as to doing good, I prefer to leave 
that for ministers, who pretend to make it their 
business in life. 

Mr. Vernon was very much interested in my 
success with the organ, and told me that he was 
disinterested enough to hope that I would be 
equal to the new position, for he knew I would 
enjoy it so much more than playing at the mis- 
sion. He promised to call at the church for me 
after rehearsal last night and bring me home. 
I was surprised, when the practice was over and 
I descended from the organ loft into the dimly- 
lighted churgh below, to find that he was accom- 
panied by a friend of whom I have often heard 
him speak. He had been a roommate in col- 
lege, though one year behind Mr. Vernon in the 
course, and was now spending his last year at a 
theological seminary. I had often heard Mr. 
Vernon speak enthusiastically of his ability and 
talent, always coupled with the regret that he 
was too indolent to make the best of himself. 
He could rank among the best students without 
applying himself at all, but simply by drifting 
indolently, and Mr. Vernon often spoke warmly 
of what he might accomplish if his ambition was 


62 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


only aroused or a little energy developed. I can 
well believe that Mr. Landreth is indolent, for 
he shows it in every movement, even in the 
languor with which he speaks. He is tall, and 
quite handsome, and he has a very charming 
way of paying compliments, I discovered. He 
had read my novel, and told me how anxious he 
had been to meet the author, and how he had 
persuaded Mr. Vernon to let him accompany 
him this evening, without first waiting for my 
consent to the introduction. Altogether I was 
quite pleased with him, and though he is going 
to be a minister, he is n’t at all preacher-like or 
professional. 

He asked my permission to call on his next 
visit to the city. He had promised to preach for 
Mr. Vernon to-day, or I rather fancy he would 
have been at Dr. Vincent's church. I think he 
will be quite an agreeable acquisition to my list 
of acquaintances. 

September 8. I did not mean to neglect 
you for so long a time, old friend, but I went 
away without you to spend my summer vacation 
with an old school acquaintance, who became a 
friend when she happened to come across my 
novel in a library and recognized my name on 
the title-page. I cannot recall that we were 
very great friends at school. I have rather a sore 
remembrance of hearing her speak of me as that 


WELCOME SURPRISES. 


63 

shabbily dressed little dowdy who has n’t a 
thing in the world to recommend her,” but I 
will be magnanimous now, and forget all that, 
since she seems to be oblivious of it. 

I wish I had had you with me, dear jour- 
nal, that I might have recorded some of the gay- 
eties with which my summer has been filled to 
overflowing, but I will put it down collectively 
as the most delightful two months that can be 
imagined. Eleanor has married a very rich 
man, and has every whim gratified, but I do not 
envy her. It seems a very shallow life at best, 
to have no higher ambition than to make a bril- 
liant appearance in society, and I think if I was 
married I should want to be sure there was some 
real affection existing between myself and my 
husband. Eleanor does not seem to have any 
feeling for her husband, save that he is a conve- 
nient banker and always ready to furnish her 
with whatever she desires; and for his part he 
merely seems to be very proud of her, just as he 
is of his handsome house and fine grounds. I 
have come home quite rested and ready for an- 
other winter of teaching, and I hope I shall be 
able to reserve some time for literary work. 

October 24. Be a real friend to me, dear 
journal, and tell me what to do. If you didn’t 
love any one, would you be willing to marry 
a man who loved you very dearly, although he 


64 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


knew that you had nothing but a liking for 
him? It would be a pleasant change to have 
a beautiful home, with abundance of leisure and 
means to gratify one’s literary ambitions, but 
somehow I cannot make it seem anything but 
a barter — a cold-blooded exchange of one’s self 
for comfort. I will not ask any one but you, 
for I know what advice I would receive. 

I have a letter from Eleanor in my hand, full 
of friendly advice, and it is just what every one 
would say. It is not for the sake of a home or 
the luxury I might have, that I stop to think it 
over, but because I might have so much better 
opportunities of making the most of myself. 
Not even for that, though, can I bring myself 
to make the sacrifice, for that is what it seems 
to me, notwithstanding all the worldly advan- 
tages in the other side of the scale. I could not 
respect myself again, and I am sure I should 
only reap unhappiness. No, no, a hundred 
times no, were the advantages to be gained 
twice as attractive. 

November 5. I have quite settled down to 
my usual routine, though I have enough delight- 
ful times to break the monotony. I believe I 
am a restless, dissatisfied sort of a creature, any- 
way. I thought I would be perfectly happy 
when my novel came out, but somehow I find 
myself still longing for something else — I do n’t 


WELCOxME SURPRISES. 65 

know exactly what — and when I have time to 
think I am quite restless. What is it that I want 
to be quite content ? I suppose it is the ungrati- 
fied cravings of my intense ambition. Well, 
I must not stop to sentimentalize upon your 
pages, for I have some letters to write to-night 
and it is growing late. I have been enjoying a 
correspondence with Sydney Landreth this win- 
ter. He writes such bright, clever letters that 
they are really an intellectual treat to read and 
answer. 

December i. I will turn over a blank leaf 
and make this entry on a new page, dear jour- 
nal, for I have turned over a page in my life. 
Something has happened to-night that will alter 
my whole life. It half frightens me to realize 
it, and yet I am too happy to wish it otherwise 
for a moment. Surely you can guess, old jour- 
nal? You are not more surprised than I am, 
and yet I wonder how I have been so uncon- 
scious of it all. 

Yes, I am engaged, and I am, after my usual 
fashion of doing things, heart and soul in love 
with Sydney Landreth. Mr. Vernon was right; 
ambition alone could never make me happy. I 
have too great a capacity for love. Isn’t it 
strange it never entered into my plans or 
thoughts for the future, and yet it has been a 
part of my life after all. Not even to you will I 
5 


Beside Still Wnters. 


66 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


tell what Sydney said. It is too sacred, too 
precious, for any one else to know, or even to 
be intrusted to paper, but I am unutterably con- 
tent. I am as foolish as any love-sick heroine 
that I ever ridiculed in a romance. I want to 
press the shining circlet upon my finger to my 
lips again and again, to assure myself that all 
this is real and not a dream. 

I need not give up my ambition after all, for 
Sydney says he is proud of me and will rejoice 
in every honor I can gain ; but love comes first 
now, and I am glad to have it so. 


GIRLHOOD DAYS CLOSING. 


67 


CHAPTER VII. 

GIRLHOOD DAYS CLOSING. 

January i. How quickly the last twelve 
months have passed away. It seems but a few 
weeks since I made the first entry in the new 
year which has become the old. I am wonder- 
ing now whether the year upon which I am just 
entering can bring me any greater happipess 
than the last year did. We spent New Year’s 
eve together, Sydney and I, talking of our plans 
for the future, the happiness that we would find 
in each other. I can’t realize that I am to be 
a minister’s wife, and when Sydney told me of 
a call he had received from a small country 
church, and wanted me to talk it over with him, 
I could not realize that it had anything to do 
with me, except that I was, of course, interested 
in all his plans. 

I do privately wish that he had chosen some 
other profession, for it is a pity to have his tal- 
ents wasted in some humdrum little country 
place; but after all I can comfort myself by 
reflecting that there is just as much room at the 
top of his profession as in any other, so I need 
not feel that it is of no use to be ambitious for 


68 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


him. A quiet little country place would give us 
each a good opportunity to study and grow men- 
tally, and we would have a great deal more time 
to enjoy each other’s society than if Sydney had 
a large city church. If he accepts this call he 
will go to his new home in February, and he 
wants us to be married in April. It will be a 
very short engagement, but Sydney will be so 
lonely and I shall see so little of him after he 
once begins his work, that I did not feel like 
making any objections. I wonder what his 
family are like and whether we will be con- 
genial. Like myself, Sydney is an orphan, and 
his mother’s sister has brought up both Sydney 
and his sister Linda, and has always been as de- 
voted to them as their own mother could have 
been. 

Last night I ventured to ask Sydney what 
his aunt was like, and whether he thought she 
would like me. I suppose I was just conceited 
enough to think he would say, “ Why, of course 
she will like you, darling. How could she 
help it?” 

At all events I was a little hurt when he said, 
half hopefully and half doubtfully, 

“Well, I hope she vdll, for Aunt Penelope is 
very strong in her likes and dislikes, and it will 
be so much pleasanter for you if she does like 
you.” 


GIRLHOOD DAYS CLOSING. 69 

I suppose I looked a little downcast, for Syd- 
ney went on to say, 

“She is just as devoted to me as if I were 
her only son instead of her only nephew, and 
so she naturally thinks, as I suppose all mothers 
do under such circumstances, that no one can be 
quite worthy of the honor of being my wife. 
Of course it is unreasonable, but I know I can- 
not bring her to realize as I do what a treasure I 
have won. I hope you will .try to make her like 
you, and humor her a little if it is necessary.” 

“I will try, Sydney,” I said with a sinking 
heart; then remembering that I was on very 
friendly terms with two maiden ladies in the 
house whom every one else seemed to be in 
awe of, my spirits rose. I had seldom met any 
one with whom I could not be “good friends,” 
and it was hardly probable that Sydney’s aunt 
would be an exception, especially when I meant 
to love her. 

“Now, Phyllis, I hope I have not made you 
think that my aunt will be a very unpleasant 
personage to encounter,” said Sydney, studying 
my face intently. “ I only wanted to explain to 
you that you must not be disappointed if she 
does not seem very cordial at first ; it is not her 
way to be at all demonstrative, even with Linda 
and me, and she has very inflexible ideas of 
right and wrong by which she measures every 


70 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


one. She would be very much shocked to think 
that you had ever been to the theatre, or that 
you were worldly enough to dance ; and proud 
as I am of your clever novel, I think I had 
better not show it to her until after she has met 
you." 

“You had better get a mould into which I 
will fit myself," I cried despairingly. “Why, 
Sydney, she will never like me, I am sure. I 
should be saying or doing something to shock 
her constantly, even when I was watching my 
every word and movement. What shall I do?" 

I nearly cried, I was so dismayed at the pros- 
pect, and Sydney tried to reassure me as soon as 
he saw how his words had made me feel. 

“ I ought to have had more sense than to tell 
you all this," he said remorsefully. “I only 
thought that ‘ forewarned would be forearmed 
but forget all that I have said and be your own 
bright, winsome self, and I am sure she will 
love you. I know you will be great friends 
with my sister." 

Sydney seemed to be so distressed over the 
effect of his words that I said no more about 
my uneasiness about his aunt’s probable feelings 
towards me. I have looked forward to loving 
her and having her welcome me as a loved 
daughter, and I cannot bear to think of any 
other reception. I will not despair yet, how- 


GIRLHOOD DAYS CLOSING. 7 1 

ever. Even if she does not like me at first, I 
will try to be patient and win her love, and I 
am vain enough to think that I can succeed. 
Sydney showed me her picture, and she has 
a bright strong face, though her lips are set 
together in a way that denotes great firmness of 
character. I hope I shall never come into col- 
lision with her will, for I am obstinate enough 
myself if any one tries to force me, though I 
can never withstand an affectionate appeal for a 
moment. 

Dear old journal, can you realize that only 
three more months of my individual existence 
are before me; that after that I shall lose my 
own identity in another’s ? Sydney pretends to 
be afraid that he will soon be known only as his 
wife’s husband, but there is no danger of that. 
I am very proud of his talent, and I know I 
could never have loved him if I had not felt 
that he was intellectually my superior. Eleanor 
knows of my engagement, and she wrote me a 
letter which seemed very disagreeable, bidding 
me enjoy my fool’s paradise as long as I could, 
for I would soon enough regret it. That is all 
she knows about my feelings. I should have 
regretted it far sooner if I had taken her advice, 
and made what she would have called a brilliant 
match. It is always safe to let one’s heart de- 
cide such matters. 


72 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


January 24. This week will be Sydney’s 
last at home, and his aunt has written me a very 
pleasant letter, inviting me to spend it with 
them. I am a coward about meeting them, and 
much as I want to see Sydney, I am glad that I 
cannot leave my scholars for that length of time, 
and can only make arrangements to spend from 
Friday till Monday away. I wish Sydney had 
not said anything to me about the possibility of 
their not liking me, for I feel so shy and self- 
conscious that I can hardly expect to make a 
good impression. It is a visit I dread, and I 
heartily wish it was over and I was safely at 
home again. 

February 2. The ordeal is over at last, and 
it was not half as trying as I had expected it to 
be. If Sydney’s aunt is always as kind to me 
as she is now, I shall be perfectly happy, and 
I know I shall love his sister dearly. I had a 
very pleasant visit, but I was not sorry when the 
time came for my departure, for I could not help 
feeling that I was under scrutiny. Of course 
they could not help criticising me, and it was 
most natural that they should be curious con- 
cerning a new-comer into the family; but they 
were so thoughtful of my feelings and so kind 
that I could not resent it. Sydney seemed de- 
lighted at his aunt’s approval. I really believe 
he had expected her to strongly object to me. 


GIRLHOOD DAYS CLOSING. 73 

It is very evident that with all her pleasant ways 
the family are somewhat in awe of her, and 
never incur her disapproval if they can help it. 
She must have a strong character, for Sydney 
yields to her in everything just as if he were a 
child. 

I know I was not my natural self at all, for 
I kept continual guard over my lips lest I should 
mention some of the dangerous subjects that 
Sydney had warned me about. They may like 
the quiet, exceedingly proper Miss Graham, but 
when they become thoroughly acquainted with 
me I tremble for the opinion they will have of 
the real Phyllis, who is thoughtless and impul- 
sive, and whose tongue rattles off all the non- ^ 
sense that comes into her head. If I thought it 
pleased Sydney better I would try to cultivate 
this extreme propriety ; but when I asked him 
rather anxiously if he would like me to be so 
quiet all the time, he looked horrified, and 
begged me not to alter myself in the least, or 
I would not suit him at all. 

I am afraid I shall never suit any one but 
Sydney in my new role as a minister’s wife ; but, 
after all, he is the only one in the world I care 
to please, so it doesn’t make any difference. 

February io. My first check came to-day 
from the publishers’, and it was almost as de- 
lightful as receiving the first copy of the book. 


74 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


I suppose I may consider that it has had a sue. 
cessful sale, since my first profits have a little 
more than covered my share of the expense. I 
shall spend this money in my preparations for 
the wedding, and buy lots of lovely, dainty gar- 
ments to make me attractive in Sydney’s eyes. I 
am afraid my interest in literary work has sadly 
flagged just now. I would rather live a novel 
than write one, and I enjoy Sydney’s daily let- 
ters far more than the writings of the most 
profound authors. I am beginning to believe 
that I am not quite as intellectual as I used to 
think I was. 

April 3. For the last time I will write in 
these pages as Phyllis Graham, and glad as I am 
that to-morrow is to be my wedding-day, yet I 
have a subdued feeling, notwithstanding my 
happiness, as I sit here with my pen in my hand. 
I am almost homesick at the thought of leav- 
ing this room which has been my home for the 
last two years. It looks desolate and forlorn 
enough to-night, with all my Lares and Penates 
packed ready for transportation to my new 
home, my piano and pictures boxed, and every- 
thing ready for the journey except my box of 
books, which I will close up as soon as I have 
put you in among them. I shall not take you on 
my wedding journey, dear journal, for I shall be 
too happy to even think of you, and you will 


GIRLHOOD DAYS CLOSING. 75 

only be in my way. We are to have a very 
quiet wedding in Dr. Vincent’s church ; only 
Sydney’s family and a few intimate friends of 
mine are to be present ; and then we are to start 
at once upon our trip. 

I had a sweet letter from dear aunt to-day, 
wishing me much happiness and regretting that 
she could not be with me to-morrow. I should 
think it would almost frighten her to think of 
my being married, after her own married life 
has been so full of trials and disappointments. 
She does not speak of those though, brave, un- 
selfish, uncomplaining woman that she is, but 
only tells me of the happiness of married life 
and the veil of tenderness that mutual love 
draws over all infirmities of temper. I don’t 
believe I shall ever be half as good as she is. I 
do n’t think that patience and love and forbear- 
ance should be all on one side, and I am afraid I 
could not keep on loving Sydney if he became 
selfish and tyrannical. I am not afraid of that 
though ; I am willing to trust my life in his 
hands, and believe that he will always love and 
care for me. He will not disappoint me ; my 
only fear is that I may not be to him all of help 
and inspiration that I long to be. 

I surely ought to realize what is going to 
happen to-morrow, after the weeks of busy pre- 
paration I have been passing through, but it all 


76 BESIDE STILL WATERS. 

seems half a dream. It is a dream of happiness 
though. If I thought Sydney could ever grow 
cold or indifferent to me, if I thought we could 
ever love each other less, I would draw back at 
this late hour, for I cannot imagine anything 
more desolate than a loveless life. Now that I 
know how sweet a thing it is to be loved, I do 
not think I could live without it, and I verily 
believe it would break my heart to have any- 
thing come between Sydney and myself. If I 
did not trust his love so implicitly and believe in 
him so entirely, it would frighten me to think 
that the words will be uttered to-morrow which 
will bind our lives together “ until death do us 
part.” Till death ! Could anything be more 
dreadful than to be bound so closely if one did 
not love with all her heart and soul ! Good-by, 
dear journal. My girlhood closes to-night, and 
for the last time I record my name in your 
pages 


PHYLLIS GRAHAM. 



Beside Stili Waters. Page 77. 








SUNDAY IN THE NEW HOME. 


77 


CHAPTER VIII. 

SUNDAY IN THE NEW HOME. 

April i8. Do you feel bewildered, dear old 
book, when I take you out for the first time in 
these partly new and partly old surroundings? 
There are enough of my own personal belong- 
ings about me to make you feel at home, but 
this large, old-fashioned room, with its well-filled 
bookcases lining the walls, is new, and if we 
could see out into the dark, the crooked, strag- 
gling streets of this little country town would 
prove that you are indeed in a strange place. 

We came home last night. Yes, this quiet 
little place and these two rooms are our home. 
Sitting there at that large desk, with his head 
bent over the sermon upon which he is at work, 
is my husband. I feel a ridiculous little blush 
creeping over my face as I write that word. I 
am used to the relationship, but not quite to the 
name. I had to stop writing for a moment and 
let my eyes rest on him so lovingly that it al- 
most seemed as if he must feel the gaze like 
a caressing touch upon his head. How I do love 
him ! I am so proud of him too, and every day 
I discover something new to admire in him. I 


78 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


have promised that I would not speak for two 
hours, for he has his sermon to prepare for next 
vSunday, and it is hard work at best to settle his 
thoughts to his work after all that has happened 
during the last two weeks, so I will not interrupt 
him by a gesture even. 

These days since I wrote here last have been 
days of the most unalloyed happiness, without a 
cloud to mar their brightness ; and as their hap- 
piness has consisted in being with my precious 
husband, I cannot see why all the rest of my 
life should not be equally blissful. If married 
people all loved each other as we do, I am sure 
that there would never be any quarrels or dis- 
agreements between them. I cannot even imag- 
ine our speaking unkindly to each other. I 
know I could never say a word to grieve him, 
no matter what provocation I had, and I am 
equally sure that Sydney would never give me 
any provocation ; so how could we ever quarrel ? 

The hand of the clock is approaching the 
expiration of the second hour, and in a few 
moments Sydney’s pen will be thrown aside and 
his thoughtful frown will relax as his eyes meet 
mine with a smile. Then the rest of the even- 
ing will be mine, and how we will enjoy every 
moment of it ! This is an uneventful record to 
make, when so much has happened .since I wrote 
last ; but I can think of nothing, write of nothing, 


SUNDAY IN THE NEW HOME. 79 

but Sydney, for every thought is centred in 
him. 

April 25. Little did I think that the next 
time I wrote in these pages I should record our 
first quarrel. We have quarrelled already, Syd- 
ney and I ; but it was all my fault. I am so 
ashamed to think that with all my love for Syd- 
ney, and desire to make him happy, I should 
have been angry enough to say hateful, taunt- 
ing things to him. Sydney has forgiven me, 
but I feel as if I could never forgive myself, 
and if my tears could wash out all remembrance 
of my hasty words, they would have been blot- 
ted out already. 

This was how it happened. We have break- 
fast as early on Sunday as on any other morning, 
and when we came up stairs and Sydney sat 
down to read his sermon over, I took up a novel 
that I had nearly finished the night before, and 
sitting down by the window was soon absorbed 
in its contents. Suddenly I heard Sydney’s 
voice in a tone of shocked surprise, 

“ Phyllis, what are you reading ?” 

I held the novel up for him to see the title. 

“ Why, what do you mean by having such a 
book in your hands on Sunday?” Sydney said 
in annoyed tones. “ Put it away at once and 
take something more suitable to the day.” 

There was enough of a tone of command in 


8o 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


his voice to arouse all the opposition in my na- 
ture. 

‘‘ I shall put it away when it is time to go 
to church,” I said coolly, pretending to go on 
with my reading. 

“You will put it away at once,'' Sydney said 
authoritatively. “I need hardly remind you 
how short a time it is since you promised to 
obey me, and I hope you will not set me at 
defiance so soon.” 

Poor Sydney ! He could hardly have made a 
more unfortunate speech, for then I was quite 
determined upon no account to yield. 

“ Let me tell you once for all,” I exclaimed 
angrily, “ I will not be commanded by you or any 
one else. If you had asked me to put aside the 
book, I should have done so at once, but now 
I will not. Of course I would not read a novel 
on Sunday before any of the pious people in 
your church, who would be shocked to death 
at the idea of the minister’s wife doing such a 
thing ; but I do not think that you and I in the 
privacy of our own rooms need keep up any pre- 
tence.” 

“What do you mean by pretence?” asked 
Sydney sternly, an angry flush on his face. 

“ Pretending to believe in all that your pro- 
fession obliges you to say in the pulpit,” I an- 
swered. “ I never for a moment led you to think 


SUNDAY IN THE NEW HOME. 8 1 

that I believed in anything of the kind. I told 
you that I never believed but in one person’s 
religion in my life ; I told you I never meant to 
be hypocritical enough to pretend that I was 
better than I was ; and you never seemed to care 
what I thought or said. You have not given me 
reason to believe that you expected me to feel 
any differently, and now you try to make me 
believe that you are shocked to see me with 
a novel on Sunday. There is no use in trying 
to impose upon me. I hope you can make 
your congregation think that you devoutly 
believe all you teach them, but I shall respect 
you more for being honest with me.” 

Do you mean to say that you do not believe 
in my sincerity.^” asked Sydney wonderingly. 
“Do you suppose I do not believe all that I 
am preaching?” 

“Of course you do not,” I answered. “I do 
not see how you can expect me to think so. We 
have been married two weeks. In all that time 
you have never said or done a single thing 
which would lead me to suppose that you were 
any less of a heathen than myself, minister 
though you are. If you were in earnest, surely 
you would be so full of your work just now at 
the beginning of your ministry that you could 
hardly speak or think of anything else. Now 
you need not look so angrily at me. Every word 
6 


Beside Still Waters. 


82 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


I say is true. Can you remember saying a sin- 
gle word to me on the subject of religion since 
I have known you? You are as great a hum- 
bug as every one else, and now you expect me 
to begin to live a life of pretence too. I will 
not do it, and you cannot make me.” 

Sydney’s next words would have been very 
angry ones, to judge from the expression of his 
face, but just as he opened his lips there was a 
knock at the study door. I darted into the bed- 
room and buried my hot, flushed face in the cool 
pillows. How could Sydney have been so un- 
kind, was my first thought, and I felt as if I 
could never forget his harsh words. I heard 
him go down stairs to the parlor and I could 
hear the hum of voices in conversation. My 
anger began to cool as tears came to my eyes, 
and remembering my share in the quarrel, I 
angrily tossed away the novel which I had still 
been tightly clasping, wishing that I had done it 
at first instead of being so childishly persistent. 
Suppose Sydney had not spoken pleasantly to 
me; did I not love him enough to have passed 
it over in silence? And what dreadful things 
I had said to him ! My heart ached with peni- 
tent sorrow as I recalled my slanderous words. 
Surely Sydney would never forgive me. He 
would never be loving and tender to me again, 
but there would always be that stern look on 


SUNDAY IN THE NEW HOME. 83 

his face and that cold, hard tone in his voice. 
All the sunshine and love had gone out of our 
new life, just because of my hasty temper. I 
had deserved to have him very angry with me 
and I could not expect him to forgive me, or 
if he did forgive, he could not love me again. 
If I could only take back those hateful words! 
but it was too late now. 

I heard the front door open and shut. Evi- 
dently the visitor had departed, and in another 
moment I heard Sydney coming slowly up 
stairs. My heart beat tumultuously as I lis- 
tened. Would he come to me, or was he too 
angry? The door of the study opened and I 
heard him enter the room, but instead of look- 
ing for me, he sat down at his desk in silence. 
I waited as long as I could and then rose and 
pushed aside the curtain. Sydney’s head was 
resting upon his folded arms, and he did not 
look up. 

‘‘Sydney, will you forgive me?” I cried peni- 
tently, kneeling down beside him and resting 
my tear-stained face on his shoulder. “ I do not 
deserve to have you speak to me again; but if 
you only knew how miserable I am, I think per- 
haps you would see that I am being punished 
for my wicked temper. Do speak to me, if it is 
only to scold me !” I need not have feared that 
I would not be forgiven. In a moment Sydney’s 


84 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


loving arms were about me and he was holding 
me close to his heart, kissing away the tears that 
flowed more freely than before. 

It is I who should ask forgiveness,” he said 
tenderly. I ought not to have spoken as I did. 
I have no right to command, only to ask my 
wife to let me guide her sometimes. I do not 
know what possessed me, but I was dissatisfied 
with my sermon and so I vented my irritation 
on you. Now, darling, it is growing near church- 
time, but I feel that we must have a little expla- 
nation to put matters right between us. Will 
you listen and believe me?” 

‘‘Yes,” I murmured. 

“ I deserve every word of reproach that you 
uttered. I acknowledge with shame that I have 
not given you much reason to think that I was 
in earnest; but I do want you to believe me 
when I tell you that I mean every word I utter 
in the pulpit and a hundred times more. I am 
not fit to be a minister of the gospel ; but if God 
will accept me, worthless as I am, and give me 
His grace, I want to serve him. I know what 
he has done for me, and I want to bring others 
to him. I have been cowardly about speaking 
to you of these things. I have been afraid of 
your ridicule, and I have laughed, when I knew 
it was wrong, at some of your speeches; but 
please forgive all these things now. I believe 


SUNDAY IN THE NEW HOME. 85 

that God called me to this work, and I think 
there is no grander, nobler work in the world 
than bringing souls to the Saviour. Wont you 
help me in my life-work, Phyllis? Wont you 
let me know that my wife is in sympathy with 
me and is trying to strengthen my weakness 
and help me grow in grace ? I need your help 
so much.” 

“ I will try,” I answered, lifting my tearful 
eyes to his face. “ I have not believed in reli- 
gion ; but if you do I want to, too. I am not fit 
to be your wife, Sydney ; I shall only be a him 
drance to you instead of a help ; but indeed I 
will try to please you in everything after this. 
.1 love you better for what you have told me 
than I ever did before, and I do believe you 
are sincere. And, Sydney,” I hesitated. 

“Well, my dearest wife?” 

“ I said I would not let you command me, but 
I will take it all back. I will obey you in any- 
thing, for I do love you enough to submit my 
will to yours, if I stop to think.” 

“I shall never test you,” Sydney answered, 
with a loving caress. “ Love does not need com- 
mands. I can trust you to gratify my wishes 
when I put them in the form of requests.” 

“ But, Sydney, just to show me that you have 
forgiven me, give me one little command and 
see how willingly I will obey,” I pleaded. 


86 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


“Then if you will have it so, I want you to 
dry your eyes and bathe your face, so that in 
half an hour you will be ready to go to church 
with me, looking like a happy bride instead 
of a poor little wife whose husband has ill- 
used her already.” 

“I will not let you talk so,” I said, putting 
my hand over his mouth ; then remembering 
that he needed every moment of the remaining 
time to prepare for the service, I left him to 
himself and went away to dress. 

I felt a little shy and self-conscious as I 
started to church at Sydney’s side. I suppose 
it was quite natural that the minister’s bride 
should be an object of curiosity, and perhaps 
it was intended to be rather flattering that no 
attempt was made to disguise the lively interest 
every one took in me ; nevertheless it was very 
trying. I think Sydney was rather uncomforta- 
ble, too, at the idea of preaching before me for 
the first time, and I was glad that we had had a 
little talk before we started, and I had told him 
how he would always have my sympathy, and 
that no thought of ridicule or criticism would 
ever cross my mind in connection with him 
and his work. 

The church is very pretty, and though small 
compared to the city churches I have been used 
to, is plenty large enough for the congregation. 


SUNDAY IN THE NEW HOME. 8/ 

I was quite surprised to find how my strong per- 
sonal interest in the minister made every word 
of the service intensely interesting to me. I 
must make all due allowance for my wifely par- 
tiality, but I do think, dear journal, that when 
Sydney acquires the ease that will come to him 
with longer practice, he will be a very eloquent 
preacher. If I had not known that he really 
meant all he said, I should have admired his 
sermon as a piece of fine composition; but 
remembering that he had told me that he fully 
believed every word that he uttered from the 
pulpit, it thrilled me strangely. His text was, 
‘‘ I will arise and go unto my Father,” and he 
spoke so eloquently of the joy of receiving the 
Father’s forgiveness that I could not help won- 
dering whether it was not something like the 
happiness I felt this morning when I knew that 
Sydney had forgiven me and loved me, in spite 
of all my unloving words. 

After church rather an ordeal awaited me in 
being introduced to a great many of the congre- 
gation who were waiting to speak to me. I tried 
to be as cordial as they were in their greeting to 
me, but I was very glad when Sydney took me 
away. I did not have the pleasure of walking 
home with him, for the lady with whom we 
board, and her son, walked with us. When we 
reached our room, Sydney put down his sermon 


88 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


and took me in his arms. “Well, little wife, 
were you ashamed of me?” 

“Oh, Sydney!” but I will not even write 
down in these pages all I said; it gratified 
Sydney, though he pretended to think that love 
had blinded my eyes. 

I do want to be good. I want to be a real 
help to Sydney, but I do n’t know how to begin. 
I believe good people always have family pray- 
ers; I know auntie always tried to, until uncle 
said it made him too nervous. When he had 
given up preaching entirely and went to the 
office every morning where he was engaged on 
a paper, auntie used to conduct them ; but when 
uncle gave up business and was at home all the 
time, of course they had to be given up. I will 
suggest to Sydney to-night that we have family 
prayers, and I think it will please him. This 
first Sunday in my new home would have been 
a happy day if I could blot out the remembrance 
of our quarrel this morning. 


A MONTH LATER. 


89 


CHAPTER IX. 

A MONTH LATER. 

May 18. Just to think that I have been here 
a whole month already ! Sydney was very much 
afraid that the time would hang heavily on my 
hands, but it has not. I have been busy in 
learning to feel that this is my home, and in 
making the acquaintance of the people who are 
to be my friends. I wish we were housekeeping ; 
I should so enjoy doing everything for Sydney’s 
comfort myself ; but I suppose we shall come to 
that by-and-by. 

I am very happy here. But there is one lit- 
tle thing that troubles me, and it is so small and 
trifling a matter that I am ashamed to let it 
annoy me. I am out of money, and every now 
and then I have some little want to gratify, and 
I look into my empty purse with a feeling of 
dependence that is altogether new to me. Of 
course Sydney has never thought that I might 
have any use for a little money, and so it has not 
occurred to him to give me any. I can’t imagine 
that I shall ever be able to ask him as a matter 
of course for any amount I need, as I have often 
heard wives ask. Theoretically, I suppose that 


90 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


since we are one, there need not be any mine or 
thine about the salary; it is a common fund 
upon which we both may draw with perfect free- 
dom when we have occasion ; but practically it 
all seems to be Sydney’s, and I have the uncom- 
fortable feeling that I am asking a gift when I 
need any. I suppose if I had been used to going 
to uncle and asking him for whatever I wanted, 
I would not be so sensitive about it ; but as all 
the money I have ever spent I have earned by 
my own exertions, and felt that I had a perfect 
right to spend as I pleased, I am unusually inde- 
pendent in my feelings. 

I am not blaming Sydney in the least, for I 
cannot expect him to know how it feels to have 
an empty purse and be too proud to ask to have 
it refilled, but I do not think that we are begin- 
ning in just the right way to solve this domes- 
tic money problem,” as I have heard it called. I 
think it would be better for both of us if I could 
put my pride in my pocket and talk the matter 
over frankly with Sydney, telling him that I 
have occasion to use money, and as it is a hard 
thing to ask him continually for what I need, he 
would make it easier for me by putting some 
money at my disposal in such a way that I 
would not feel that I had to humiliate myself to 
ask for it. I wish the money was mine, and that 
I was the one to provide for Sydney’s wants, I 


A MONTH LATER. 


91 


think I am more impulsively generous than Syd- 
ney is, for it makes me supremely happy to give ; 
and when I love any one as I do my husband, I 
should so enjoy gratifying his every wish before 
he had time to express it. 

If I only had some way of earning money 
here, I would much rather never touch Syd- 
ney’s ; but I am afraid I shall have to lay aside 
my feelings and mention the matter to him, as I 
see no prospect of my funds being replenished 
from any miraculous source. I will put it off 
until to-morrow though, in the hope that by that 
time it may have occurred to him to inquire into 
the state of my finances without any suggestion 
from me. 

May 19. It was a vain hope. Sydney’s mind 
is probably above such petty matters as pin- 
money, so I tried to put aside all my sensitive- 
ness this afternoon and go to him as a matter of 
course. 

‘‘ Sydney,” I began bravely, “ 1 want to ask 
you for something.” 

“Well, dear?” and he looked up encoura- 
gingly from his paper. 

Now I had quite made up my mind that I 
would not begin by apologizing for what was 
a right and a natural thing to do, but I forgot 
my resolutions and began, 

“ I hate to ask you, darling, and I would n’t if 


92 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


I could help it, but I can’t. Would you mind — 
giving me a little money ?” 

It was hard work to force out the last few 
words, but Sydney did not seem to notice what 
an effort it had cost me. 

“ How much do you want ?” he asked. 

I mentioned some of the little things. I 
needed, and their probable price, and Sydney 
counted out the exact amount and handed it to 
me, without any remark, going back again to his 
paper. 

I thanked him, but when I went into the bed- 
room to put it away in my poor little empty 
purse, I threw it on the bed and made a face 
at it. 

I will never ask for another cent as long as 
I live !” I said to myself defiantly. “ If I have to 
have every cent doled out to me so carefully, I 
will go without anything rather than take it; 
so !” 

I had a hurt feeling that I knew was wholly 
unreasonable. Oh, why couldn’t I have been 
frank enough to tell Sydney how I felt about 
asking for money, and just come to some under- 
standing about the matter? Of course he does 
not know how I feel about it, and I will not 
blame him for making me pose as a beggar. 
Now I am sensible enough to know and believe 
that if he loved me enough to ask me to share 


A MONTH LATER. 


93 


his life, if he chose me from all others to be his 
wife, then he surely would not grudge supplying 
my wants, and I need not feel so sore and hurt 
about this money ; yet in spite of this sensible 
reasoning I am childish enough to want to cry 
over my disappointed feeling. 

If he had only handed me his pocketbook 
and said cordially, as if he really loved to give it 
to me, 

“ Take what you want, darling, for all that I 
have is yours,” it would have been hard enough 
then to help myself to any of it, but it would 
have gratified me to know that he gave it freely 
and generously. As it was, I felt humiliated at 
having it doled out to me as a matter of neces- 
sity instead of a free gift. 

I will not feel aggrieved at Sydney, for of 
course he does not know how I feel ; but I never, 
never will ask. him for another cent. Even as I 
make this resolution I am conscious that I am 
making a mistake, and that for the sake of our 
after happiness we ought to settle this matter 
now, but I am too cowardly and sore over it to 
mention money again to Sydney. Perhaps some 
time, when we have been married longer, I shall 
be braver. In the meantime I am going to try 
my hardest, and see if I cannot do some writing 
that will help me out of my difficulty, for I have 
plenty of time for it. I will not let myself feel 


94 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


hurt at Sydney, for he is always right, and I 
would rather be in the wrong when we have a 
disagreement than find a flaw in my idol. I love 
to think that he is strong and good and perfect, 
where I am weak and impulsive and erring, 
and I will never let myself blame him ever so 
slightly. 

May 25. We are so happy together ! I won- 
der if we will always be. I have seen so many 
married people who seemed just to take each 
other as a matter of course, and who never 
thought of indulging in any of the little demon- 
strations of affection that make life such a beau- 
tiful thing. How jealously I mean to guard 
against the very first remissness in affection and 
courtesy, for I fancy it must be the wife’s fault 
when the husband ceases to be a lover. If I 
thought Sydney would ever love me less, I 
should not want to live. 

There is just one thing to keep me from 
being blissfully happy, and strangely enough it 
is the very last thing that I ever imagined would 
trouble me. I wish I could make up my mind 
once for all about the reality of God. I don’t 
want death to part Sydney and me for ever ; and 
young and strong though we are, death might 
come to one or the other of us even before this 
year has run its course. If Sydney is going to 
heaven, I must go there too. Though I believe 


A MONTH LATER. 


95 

in a vague sort of way in all that Sydney says in 
his sermons, and though I have hours of anxious 
self-questioning afterward, yet I cannot bring 
myself to the intense realization of the truth 
which is necessary before I can go any farther. 
I feel as if I was groping blindly after the truth, 
and though I am trying to see God, yet a cloud 
is before my eyes and I cannot even believe that 
he is behind it. 

One petition in Sydney’s prayer last Sunday 
morning has haunted me ever since, it seemed 
like such a cruel thing to ask. He prayed for 
those who had not yet come to Christ that they 
might have a terrible unrest which should not 
leave them until they found the peace which 
passe th all understanding.” A terrible unrest! 
I shivered a little as I listened to the words. 
What if that prayer should be answered for me, 
and this vague uneasiness should become indeed 
“ a terrible unrest ” from which I could find no 
escape day or night ! 

If it is all true that Sydney says, there is a 
life I have never dreamed of, a life of love for 
God as real and earnest as my love for Sydney, 
only far greater. If I could once feel with . all 
my heart that God is good and great and infi- 
nitely loving and pitiful, then I might love him ; 
but my most earnest efforts do not seem to bring 
him near me. What shall I do ? If there were 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


96 

no such thing as death in the universe, and I 
knew I could have Sydney for ever, whether I 
became a Christian or not, I would not be so 
anxious over my unbelief; but every morning 
I wonder whether this may not be our last day 
together, whether sudden death may not come 
between us, and separate lis for ever. I have 
no faith in prayer, but this morning I prayed 
a strange petition. It was like an aimless cry 
into space, I had so little feeling that my cry 
was heard or would be answered. I prayed that 
God would make me believe in him, and would 
give me faith to pray. It was a half-hearted 
prayer, but Sydney says God hears the faintest 
call, so it may be that an answer will come. 

I try to talk to him sometimes and tell him 
my doubts and perplexities and fears, but some- 
how he does not seem to understand them. He 
thinks that I am a Christian already, though I 
have been careless and inconsistent, and that 
I am simply worrying myself because I am 
not more emotional and full of feeling. He 
tells me that some people never have the same 
warmth of feeling that others do, and that my 
experience may be wholly individual. I cannot 
comfort myself by believing this, however. I 
know I do not love God. I know I have never 
experienced any of that wonderful joy and 
peace that Sydney says come with reconcilia- 


A MONTH LATER. 


97 


tion to God, and I cannot be satisfied to go on as 
I am. I do want to be good, and I enjoy pray- 
ers morning and evening because that seems 
like a step in the right direction ; but I must not 
stop here. I know that if I ever do become a 
Christian I shall love God with all my heart and 
soul, and shall want to give my whole life up to 
His service; but will that peace ever come to 
me? Perhaps it is to be my punishment for 
those years of unbelief, that I never shall be 
allowed a firm and tranquil faith. Could there 
be a sadder prospect than a lifetime of “ terrible 
unrest’? 


Beside f?tni Water*. 


7 


98 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


CHAPTER X. 

TWO SOURCES OF DISQUIET. 

May 28. I always imagined that the life of a 
minister’s wife was a continuous round of going 
to missionary meetings, sewing societies, and 
other things of that kind, and that there were 
always sick women to be visited and comforted 
with bowls of soup and packages of tea. It has 
been a pleasant surprise to find that there is 
absolutely nothing that I am expected to do, 
and there are no societies of any kind for me to 
go to; so I have the best of excuses for staying 
at home. I have not even been asked to take 
a class in Sunday-school, as there are plenty 
of teachers. I had made up my mind that I 
would refuse if I was asked, for when I am 
groping in darkness myself I will not profess 
to teach others. All my duties are comprised 
in receiving and returning calls, so I have 
plenty of time to write when Sydney is busy 
over his sermons and to enjoy his society when 
he is at liberty. When he is through writing 
he reads his sermons over to me, and I do 
dearly love to feel that I am of some help to 
him in the way of criticism and suggestion. 


TWO SOURCES OF DISQUIET. 99 

I have written a children’s story lately and 
sent it to a juvenile magazine. Just when I was 
beginning to give up all hopes of its acceptance 
the check came. I was delighted this morning 
when I opened the envelope, which I knew was 
too flat and thin to contain the returned manu- 
script, and found the check, which seemed to me 
a very generous payment. It did give me such 
a comfortable feeling of independence to have 
some money of my own once more, and know 
that I had not to choose between being penni- 
less and asking Sydney for money. 

My first impulse was to carry it to him trium- 
phantly and give it to him to put with his other 
money; but a moment of reflection convinced 
me that I should then be as uncomfortable as 
ever, for it would be quite as trying to ask Syd- 
ney for some of my own money as for some of 
his. I contented myself with showing it to him 
and telling him of my success, and then I tucked 
the pink crisp slip which represented such relief 
of mind to me snugly away in my purse. I 
have given myself one pleasure out of it. This 
afternoon I ordered a book for Sydney that he 
has spoken of several times and wished that he 
might have. Sydney’s salary is so small that 
it will only economically supply our necessities, 
and not leave any surplus for books, music, 
pleasure-trips, or anything of the kind. It will 


100 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


be a delight to me to surprise him with a new 
book now and then. 

June 5. My prayer has been answered. I 
realize God as I had never thought it possible. 
I am continually oppressed with a sense of His 
presence and his greatness. It terrifies me and 
makes me mo«e unhappy than I was before over 
my unbelief. Oh, how do people become Chris- 
tians? It sounds so easy when I ask Sydney. 
It is nothing but a complete surrender of every- 
thing; and it surely seems as if it would be a 
very easy thing to acknowledge God’s right to 
everything, when, whether I acknowledge it or 
not, all things are in His hand. I cannot love 
Him though. I cannot see how there can be 
love where there is such fear. “Perfect love 
casteth out fear,” Sydney read this morning; 
but my only feeling is that of terror, when I 
realize I am wholly powerless to draw a breath 
by my own strength, and that at any moment, 
if God willed it so, this mysterious thing that 
I call life might cease, and I should be swept 
out into an eternity of darkness. This thought 
clouds all the brightness of a life that otherwise 
would be perpetual sunshine. 

I try not to be gloomy and worry Sydney 
with my depression, but underneath all that I 
say and do is this unrest which will not be 
quieted. I ask myself what I would give to 


TWO SOURCES OF DISQUIET. lOI 

purchase peace. It seems to me as if it would 
be a very easy thing to sacrifice my ambition 
and myself. If I thought God demanded of me 
a complete surrender of every gift for his ser- 
vice, and called me to a life of rigid self-sacrifice 
and work, I do believe I could lay aside all my 
own bright plans for my life and gladly obey, 
to purchase immunity from this terrible* fear of 
God. But there is one thing I would not give 
up: I could not give up Sydney, not though I 
knew my love for him would bar me from an 
eternity of happiness. Anything else I could 
surrender, but I could never willingly give up 
my beloved husband. I know God is all-power- 
ful. If he will, he can lay his hand on my most 
precious treasure and snatch him away from me, 
but I could never give him up. How will this 
struggle end? I was far happier when I took 
no thought of God, . and believed that I held 
my life in my own hands, than I am now. 

June 6 . My anxiety makes me irritable, and 
I have more unkind words to repent of sorrow- 
fully. This afternoon the burden upon my heart 
was so heavy that I could not bear it alone. 

“ Sydney,” I cried, “ I am so unhappy ! Can’t 
you help me? I can give God anything but 
you, and I can never, never give you up. Can I 
never find peace till I am willing to make that 
sacrifice too?” 


102 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


I think you are giving yourself needless un- 
happiness, dearest,” Sydney answered. “ There 
are some sacrifices for which God gives us 
strength in the hour of need, and we cannot lay 
it up beforehand. He will not give you dying 
grace while you need living grace, nor will He 
strengthen you for our separation while we are 
together. I wish you would not worry so about 
yourself, dear, for I trust you are all right.” 

“ I am not all right,” I cried, bursting into 
tears. “ I do not see how you can think I am. 
You do not care how unhappy I am; you will 
not try to really help and comfort me. If I was 
almost a perfect stranger to you, but paid pew 
rent in your church, and came to you for coun- 
sel, I know just how beautifully you would talk 
to me; but as it is you don’t care. You only 
want me to be bright and cheerful for your 
sake, no matter what becomes of me.” 

The moment the hasty words had forced 
themselves out of my lips I repented, and I 
waited for the rebuke I knew I richly deserved, 
but Sydney only drew me closely to him. 

“Phyllis, do I deserve that?” he asked sor- 
rowfully but tenderly, and his goodness to me 
made my heart nearly burst with penitence. 

How can I help loving such a precious hus- 
band better than anything in the world ? How 
can I help loving him better than my soul ? Is 


TWO SOURCES OF DISQUIET. 103 

it my fault that I cannot be willing to tear him 
out of my heart and give him up ? 

June 8. Last night it seemed as if all the 
unbelief and the wrong-doing of my life rose 
up like a nightmare before me, and I felt how 
black and sin-stained my heart was in God’s 
sight. I dared not pray. I could not ask for 
forgiveness knowing that I had an idol in God’s 
place which I would not, could not, dethrone ; 
and a great sob escaped me in my despair. 

It aroused Sydney at once. 

'‘What is the matter, Phyllis?” he asked 
quickly. “ Are you ill or in pain ?” 

“ I am so wretched,” I sobbed, nestling into 
his arms with the assurance that I had at least 
an earthly refuge. “ Oh, Sydney, Sydney, I am 
so afraid of God. What shall I do ?” 

“ Let us tell Him about it, darling,” and side 
by side we knelt down, and he commended me 
so tenderly to God’s love and forgiveness that I 
felt comforted. I could go to sleep then as my 
heart grew lighter, and this morning when the 
glad sun streamed brightly in our windows, the 
horror of great darkness that came over me last 
night seemed more like a dream than a reality. 

June 15. I have been trying hard to think 
of other things, and I have at least partially suc- 
ceeded. Underneath everything else there is 
always a disquietude; but I am trying to be- 


104 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


come absorbed in my writing during those 
hours when Sydney is busy and when my 
thoughts are apt to turn inward. I am not 
attempting anything very ambitious in the liter- 
ary line, but it is so easy to find a profitable 
market for children’s stories that it is a tempta- 
tion to give up all more pretentious writing and 
weave them as fast as I can. I am doing quite 
a good deal of studying and practising too in 
these days, so time never hangs upon my hands. 

The people in the church are very kind and 
friendly, but I do not feel especially drawn 
towards any of them. I never cared about hav- 
ing an intimate friend, and I think it will be 
discreet for me as a minister’s wife not to have 
any friend to whom I would be tempted to 
speak with unwise confidence and freedom. I 
am glad sometimes that we are not in a city, 
where there would be so much outside distrac- 
tion. As it is, we can be almost always together, 
and I never have even a momentary regret for 
the gayeties which I used to enjoy so keenly. It 
is strange how love can drive out every other 
feeling from the heart. Even my ambition now 
is only for Sydney and Sydney’s sake. I am am- 
bitious for him that he shall make the best use 
of his talents and ability, and I want to make 
the best of myself, that I may be more worthy 
of his love. I should still like to be gifted and 


TWO SOURCES OF DISQUIET. 105 

famous, ' because I would like to bring any 
honor I might win as a gift to Sydney, and I 
might feel myself more worthy of being his 
wife. 

When I turn over the first pages of this jour- 
nal the records seem so childish. I had not 
really begun to live then, and yet I felt as if I 
knew so much of life. If any one had told me 
then that my ambitions would be altogether dif- 
ferent, and that I would be so perfectly happy 
in a life that is wholly at variance with what I 
enjoyed intensely then, I could not have be- 
lieved such a prophecy. I feel as if fifteen 
years at least lay between me and those first 
childish entries. I have thought once or twice 
of tearing those leaves out and letting this jour- 
nal begin with the first days of my married life ; 
but on second thought I will leave them there, 
that I may not forget what my girlhood days 
were like. 

After Sydney’s summer vacation we are 
going to housekeeping, and I am so impatient 
to have a little nest of our own that I can hardly 
wait for the time to come. How happy we will 
be ! I must spend as much of my time as possi- 
ble in writing, that I may have something with 
which to help line the nest. 


io6 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


CHAPTER XI. 

COMING INTO THE LIGHT. 

t 

September 5. Our summer vacation is over 
and we are at home again, ready to begin our 
preparations for housekeeping. We have a dear 
little house into which we are going as soon as 
we make our necessary purchases. Aunt Penel- 
ope is going with us to help select furniture 
and carpets, and I shall be glad to have her ad- 
vice, I am so inexperienced and ignorant about 
such things. I am too busy and happy to have 
any time to think about myself or of anything 
but the present. To-morrow we are going to the 
city to shop, and after that I know I shall be too 
busy to make any entries until we are safely 
settled in our own home. Our home ! I love to 
repeat the words to myself. 

October i. This is our first evening alone 
in our new home. Sydney’s aunt has been 
spending the last three weeks with us, helping 
us get settled and initiating me into the mys- 
teries of housekeeping. She has been very kind, 
and she is certainly an admirable housekeeper. 
I wonder whether I shall ever be as scrupulous- 
ly neat and exact. Three or four times when 


COMING INTO THE LIGHT. 10/ 

she has been tired she has been so frank in her 
criticisms of me that I was a little hurt and 
tempted to be very much vexed, but I woujd 
not let myself speak until I had time to remem- 
ber how much help she had given us and how 
inefficient I must seem in her eyes; and then I 
was able to respond pleasantly. We are so dif- 
ferent that I wonder how she can like me at 
all. She is so neat that not a stray thread ever 
escapes her notice, and I must confess I am 
sadly untidy, though I manage to keep things in 
sufficiently good order to please Sydney. 

Aunt Penelope is not at all demonstrative, 
and I know that she looks upon affection that 
manifests itself in caresses as an evidence of 
weak-mindedness. 

“ There are a great many better and more 
sensible ways of showing your affection,” she 
said. “ If you try to make him comfortable, that 
is far more to the purpose.” 

Well, that sounds very sensible, but I am 
sure I do try to show my love for Sydney in 
practical ways, and I should be very unhappy if 
I had to leave out all the caresses which I enjoy 
so much; besides that, though Sydney is not 
naturally very demonstrative himself, I am sure 
he enjoys having me pet him, and I don’t be- 
lieve he would be willing to have me confine my 
interest in him strictly to his creature comforts. 


I08 BESIDE STILL WATERS. 

Knowing how Aunt Penelope disapproved of 
such things, I did manage to keep all caresses for 
our own room, but I have been under a contin- 
ual restraint, and it is pleasant to feel it removed 
now. I am free to go about the house humming 
like a cheerfully -disposed bee, for alas ! I cannot 
sing, even when my heart is overflowing with 
happiness. I can seat myself by Sydney’s study 
window with my portfolio in my lap, and scrib- 
ble away, enjoying the fact that I am with him, 
without disturbing him in the least. That was 
another of the prohibited things while Aunt 
Penelope was here. 

I enjoy housekeeping very much. Of course 
in my inexperience I make some ridiculous mis- 
takes; but we laugh over them, and generally 
have so much fun at their expense that I cannot 
regret I am not too experienced ever to fail. I 
have a good girl, so we never suffer through my 
ignorance of culinary matters. I am trying to 
learn as fast as possible, for I want to be a good 
wife in every way. I want to shield Sydney 
from every discomfort that it is possible for 
me to, for I would not like to think he missed 
his aunt’s care. 

October 28 . It is over six months now since 
I tried to settle the great question that so con- 
stantly forces itself uppermost in my mind. 

What is it that keeps me from God? If he 


COMING INTO THE LIGHT. 109 

will give me strength in the time of need to 
give np Sydney submissively, should that trial 
come to me, why cannot I become a Christian 
now? I have prayed as earnestly as I know 
how that he will fill my heart with supreme 
love to him, but no answer seems to come. 
Since I have been here, one and another have 
united with the church and have found the 
peace for which I strive so vainly. Surely God 
must see how I long to come to him, if I could 
only see the way ; and why does he not make it 
plain to me ? 

Sometimes I am tempted to give up the 
struggle, but I dare not. I have been received 
as a member of this church by sending in my 
certificate of confirmation, but I cannot go to the 
communion service until I feel differently. This 
evening I attended the preparatory lecture ; and 
when I came home I wondered if I might not 
decide it all then. I knelt down and asked God 
to take me just as I was, with my heart full of 
fear and unbelief, and to fill me with his love. 
As far as I knew my own heart I was not hold- 
ing back anything, but was willing to surrender 
anything I had to God ; but I waited in vain for 
an answer. Perhaps God will not accept me 
now, when I have lived without him so long. 

Formerly I flattered myself that I had a good 
excuse for living a life of unbelief. I argued 


no 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


that the inconsistent lives of the professing 
Christians among whom I had been thrown 
would naturally keep me from having anything 
to do with religion ; but I see now that I cannot 
make others answerable for my sin. If I had 
lived up to the light I had, God would have led 
me on. I would not acknowledge him in my 
life, nor even admit that I believed in him; 
and I have deserved that he should cast me off. 
It is very hard to struggle on in the darkness 
month after month, and find no light; but I 
will not give up. It may be that some day I 
may feel myself accepted and forgiven, and it 
would be worth a lifetime of pleading to find 
peace at last. I think I shall be happier than 
most people, if I ever find the light, for I have 
waited so long for it that it will seem doubly 
precious. 

November 14. It is with a heart overflow- 
ing with love and gratitude to my Heavenly Fa- 
ther that I come to record his great mercy to me. 
His leading has been most wonderful, and I can 
hardly believe yet in my new peace and joy. 
Early last summer I had occasion to write a 
business letter to an editor, and was disappointed 
at receiving a letter from some one else who had 
taken his place, saying that it might be two or 
three weeks before the editor returned, but at 
that time my letter would be handed to him, and 


COMING INTO THE LIGHT. Ill 

I might expect to receive an answer. Inclosed 
in the letter was a leaflet, and without even glan- 
cing at the title I put it in one of the pigeon- 
holes of my secretary among some envelopes. 

I had not seen it since and had entirely for- 
gotten the circumstance. This morning I was 
very anxious to send a letter by the early mail, 
and as soon as I opened my eyes I sprang up, and 
taking some envelopes from my secretary, went 
into the study to address my letter and despatch 
it at once. The leaflet slipped to the floor from 
its hiding-place between the envelopes, and after 
I had dropped the letter down stairs and given 
directions to have it sent at once, I picked the 
leaflet up and glanced carelessly at the title. I 
had no intention of reading it, but something in 
the opening sentences attracted my attention, 
and standing there just where I was, in a patch 
of bright morning sunlight which streamed 
through the parted curtains, I read it all. 

As I read it I felt a strange restfulness and 
peace stealing over me. It was as real a feeling 
as any merely physical sensation could be, and 
when I closed the leaflet I felt that I had come 
out from my darkness into a light that would 
never fade away. Everything was so clear to 
me then ! I knew that I loved my Saviour su- 
premely, and that he had washed me from my 
sins. I did not deserve the blessedness that I 


II2 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


experienced as I stood there, but I loved him all 
the more for his unmerited mercy. I had been 
thinking that I must love Sydney less before I 
could love God with all my heart ; but it is not 
so. God has given him to me to love, and I do 
love him as dearly as ever ; but I love God more. 
All my doubts and fears vanished as surely as 
the darkness of the night had vanished before 
the bright morning sunshine. 

I do not think I shall ever forget those mo- 
ments. The sunlight dancing on the carpet, the 
idle curiosity which prompted me to glance over 
the leaflet, the peace which flowed over me and 
diffused itself in my heart, all are imprinted on 
my memory too indelibly ever to grow dim with 
time. I knelt down and gave myself to God 
with a glad consecration of every power. It was 
a delight to kneel there with this sweet new 
assurance of acceptance. Not all the inconsis- 
tencies of a thousand Christians could cast a 
shadow upon the stainless Saviour, and he was 
to be my example, not any of his weak, erring 
followers; and having redeemed me, he was 
able to keep me to the end. When I went back 
into the bedroom, something in my face at- 
tracted Sydney’s attention, and he looked at me 
inquiringly. 

'‘Sydney, I am so happy!” I said. “ It has 
come to me at last after all this weary waiting. 


COMING INTO THE LIGHT. II3 

I can say truly now that I love God best of all, 
and I feel that he has heard and forgiven me.” 

“ I am so glad, my precious wife,” Sydney 
said tenderly, and I knew that I had his fullest 
sympathy in my joy. I told him the story of the 
little leaflet’s mission, how it had been hidden 
away like a seed in the earth, waiting for God’s 
time to bear fruit ; and we both marvelled at the 
blessing that had been stored up for me through 
all these months. 

I never imagined anything as restful and sat- 
isfying as this peace which verily ^‘passeth all 
understanding;” how can I ever be grateful 
enough for it ! 

I shall treasure that little leaflet among my 
dearest earthly possessions, and I wish the 
sender could know its story, that he might be 
encouraged by the thought that the seed which 
he had scattered in unknown soil had been so 
richly blessed. 


BcsidJ yiill Witters. 


8 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


II4 


CHAPTER XII. 

HOUSEKEEPING CARES. 

November 15. This seems like a new world 
to me since yesterday morning; even the sun- 
shine seems brighter. All Christians do not 
seem to find happiness in the knowledge of 
their forgiveness. Is it possible that this joy 
can grow as pale as any earthly happiness can 
in time ? Can I ever grow careless and indiffer- 
ent and forget to love my Saviour supremely? 
It is happiness to me to sit and think of the 
wonderful love that sought me when I was so 
far away from the kingdom and led me by the 
strength of my human love to the infinite love 
of God. If I had only known the happiness 
that there is in being a Christian, I should have 
come to Christ years and years ago. I could 
not have stayed away from Him. If I could 
only put my feelings into words and tell any 
one what a precious Friend he might have, I 
am sure I could bring some other soul to Him. 

I wish God would give me something to do 
or to bear for Him. My life is such a selfish, 
useless one, and I long to spend and be spent 
in the Master’s service. I grudge the time that 


HOUSEKEEPING CARES. 


15 


I Spend in writing or in anything besides read- 
ing, prayer, and meditation. I can see how it 
must seem like a glorious thing to go into a 
convent, and shutting one’s self away from the 
world, live only for God and in communion with 
him. Of course it would not do for every one 
to shut herself away from the active duties of 
life, for these must be attended to, but there is 
much to tempt one in a cloistered sisterhood. 

I wish we lived somewhere else, where there 
was some active Christian work in which to 
engage. I have been wondering if there was 
not something for me to do here in this quiet 
little place, but there is absolutely nothing. My 
duties as wife are the only ones that fall to my 
lot. Perhaps God will send me something else 
to do for him in his own good time. There is 
so much work for him to be done in this great 
world that I cannot think he will let a willing 
V worker sit with folded hands for lack of oppor- 
tunity to labor. I will not ask for great things 
to do, for I feel that I am not worthy of that, but 
if only the humblest little opportunities may be 
opened to me I shall be so glad, for I do want 
to show my love by service. 

November 17. My first Sunday since I have 
learned to prize that day as one for special 
communion with my Saviour. I enjoyed every 
word of the service, and the hymns seemed to 


Il6 BESIDE STILL WATERS. 

express my love and devotion better than any 
words of my own. I went to Sunday-school this 
afternoon, hoping there might be something 
there for me to do. That beautiful consecration 
hymn of Frances Ridley Havergal was given out 
and I resolved to make it my daily prayer, it 
so fully expressed the consecration that I want 
to make of all of myself. 

When the children began to sing it, I dis- 
covered that it was a new hymn which they 
had not tried over before. It was not strange 
that they made some mistakes which might 
have once seemed ridiculous to me, if I had not 
heeded the words, but listened only to the mu- 
sic. I was too full of the spirit of the hymn to 
feel like smiling at the discords and the vain 
struggle to follow the organist, and I was sur- 
prised and a little indignant with a young lady 
in front of me who giggled and ehoked with 
laughter all through those matchless words. I 
am glad my self-righteous indignation speedily 
subsided. What right had I to sit so harshly 
in judgment upon her beeause she had done 
just what I should probably have done myself 
only a few days ago? It was not just to expect 
her to feel the beauty of the words as I did in 
the first glow of my love for Christ. I mean 
to watch myself carefully and guard against 
being an uncharitable Christian, for I cannot 


HOUSEKEEPING CARES. 


II7 

imagine a more unbecoming trait in a follower 
of the meek and lowly Jesus, and I know how 
I have criticised this fault-finding spirit in 
others. There was no class for me, and I came 
home rather discouraged. How eagerly I shall 
watch every day for some opportunity of use- 
fulness. 

November 28. I wonder if there must al- 
ways be a little thorn to keep people from being 
entirely happy in this world. I wish there was 
no such thing as money, or else that I had 
such a sufficiency of this world’s goods that I 
could do everything myself without going to 
Sydney at all. I feel as if a spider was weaving 
its web about me. Each gossamer thread in it- 
self is the veriest trifle, but gradually they are 
closing in around me, and I am afraid I shall 
be caught some day, like the luckless fly, in a 
net from which I cannot extricate myself. The 
trouble is this. When Aunt Penelope was here 
she had charge of the household expenses, and 
she estimated just the sum which should be 
sufficient for each week’s outlay, and before she 
went away she told Sydney that it was an 
ample amount to allow me. She said I could 
easily keep within it if I was at all economical, 
and that if I knew I had to keep within those 
bounds it would teach me good management. 
My heart sank at the time, for I knew I could 


Il8 BESIDE STILL WATERS. 

not follow in Aunt Pen’s footsteps, no matter 
how hard I might try. She is the most fru- 
gal and economical of housekeepers, and not a 
crumb is unutilized in the domestic economy. 
Everything is so nicely calculated that there is 
always just enough, and never at all too much, 
and it never pleases her to have any scraps left 
on our plates at the table which can possibly be 
eaten. Now I am positive I never shall learn 
to manage that way, and just between you and 
me, dear journal, I don’t think I want to. I 
think it is painful to know that a sudden im- 
pulse of hospitality is perfectly impracticable, 
because there is never more than enough for 
the needs of our little family prepared. Nor do 
I like to have the table talk circle around the 
domestic’s failings and extravagances. I do 
believe in a sunshiny, cheery home, where the 
spirit of criticism is banished and kindly feel- 
ing reigns, and I will not have a spirit of mu- 
tual antagonism spring up between myself and 
the girl so that we shall watch each other de- 
fiantly, lest we are imposed upon in some way. 

I am human and have my failings, which I 
have no doubt my girl can see. Probably I am 
often inconsiderate and thoughtless, and do not 
make her life as easy as I might by a little 
appreciation of her best efforts. On the other 
hand Margaret is young and inexperienced, and 


HOUSEKEEPING CARES. II9 

has not learned yet to try to make my interests 
hers, and sometimes makes unnecessary trou- 
ble by her carelessness. Neither mistress nor 
maid is perfect — indeed, we are far from it ; but 
I do not want to assume an attitude of continual 
criticism, and make her think that I am always 
watching for her faults with keen eyes that are 
blind to her efforts to do well. I have a little 
theory of my own about the relations that 
should exist between us, and I mean to put it 
in practice. 

I am worried over my housekeeping allow- 
ance though. On the subject of money there is 
a wall of reserve between us. I cannot bring 
myself to tell Sydney plainly and frankly that 
the allowance he makes me is not sufficient for 
the housekeeping expenses, and that I am stead- 
ily slipping behind week after week. I know it 
would be a great deal better for me to do so ; it 
is the right way to do ; but I shrink from it. In 
the first place, he will naturally compare my 
management to his aunt’s, and I shall suffer by 
the contrast; and then I have the uncomforta- 
ble conviction that even if I did tell him what 
an ineffectual struggle I have to make both 
ends meet, he would say that his small income 
cannot afford a larger allowance, and will abide 
by his aunt’s opinion that I will learn to man- 
age in time if I am obliged to do it. Week 


120 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


after week the greater part of my allowance goes 
to pay back bills, and so I am steadily slipping 
backward, and I cannot see where it is to stop. 

I have been hoping that I could earn 
enough by writing to overtake these ruthless 
bills ; but I have had to replenish my wardrobe, 
and I found that was not an altogether inex- 
pensive performance, and since we have been 
housekeeping I have not had time to write as 
much as I could before. I have just a little 
hope that when I receive the next returns from 
my book I may be able to straighten up all 
these tangled affairs, and have a little bank ac- 
count upon which to make inroads whenever I 
wish. If it is selling as well this year as it did 
last, I shall feel quite independently well off. 
The worst of all this is that it is making a lit- 
tle barrier between us, for I know there is one 
subject upon which we are not in sympathy, 
and one little trouble I cannot take to my hus- 
band. I wish we had started right. I am afraid 
this domestic money problem is one that will 
continually grow harder to solve. 

December 2. I feel as if I had found a 
treasure, and yet my grand discovery is only a 
poor old helpless woman who has been con- 
fined to bed for two years, and will proba- 
bly never be anything but an invalid again. 
All this time I have been longing so for a lit- 


HOUSEKEEPING CARES. 


I2I 


tie work to do for the Master, and yet not the 
smallest opportunity has presented itself be- 
fore. This morning an old carpenter who is 
feeble and rheumatic, and barely able to hob- 
ble around and do odd bits of work now and 
then, came to put up a small shelf in the 
kitchen for me. I had some illustrated reli- 
gious papers which I wanted to dispose of in 
some way where they might be of use, and 
when he was ready to go I offered them 
to him. 

“ Oh, thank you,” he said gratefully, as he 
took them, the wrinkled old face lighting up 
with pleasure. “These will be a rare comfort 
to my wife. She gets so tired lying by herself 
all day, for she is mostly alone when I am out.” 

“ Is your wife sick ?” I asked. 

“Bless you, yes,” the old man answered. 
“ She ’s got such a misery in her back that she 
can’t sit up, and her spine is all gone. She 
hasn’t been out of bed for two years, and the 
doctor do n’t think she ’ll ever walk again.” 

“ Who takes care of her?” I queried. 

“Well, she has nobody but me, but I do the 
best I can for her. I fix her up before I come 
out mornings and put everything where she 
can reach it; and then I leave the house un- 
locked, so that if any neighbor has a mind to 
go and see her she can just walk right in.” 


122 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


“But how lonely it must be for her!” I ex- 
claimed. “ Does she lie there alone all day ?” 

“Yes’m, pretty generally,” the old man an- 
swered. “At first the neighbors and church 
folks used to be good about dropping in to see 
her pretty often, but she ’s been sick so long 
that they are tired of it ; and then she ’s been 
pretty short now and again when her pain has 
been bad, and so .she has angered some folks. 
She ’s alone almost always now.” 

“ Could I go and see her?” I asked, as eagerly 
as if I was craving a boon to myself. If I could 
only brighten some of those lonely hours I 
would not feel myself so utterly useless. 

“She’d be glad to see you, ma’am. Just 
walk right in whenever you go, for if I a’n’t at 
home there is no one to go to the door.” 

I was not long in availing myself of the per- 
mission, and this afternoon I made a delicate 
little pudding that I thought would tempt an 
invalid’s appetite, and with a tiny bunch of 
violets made my way over to Mrs. Newman’s. 
It seemed rather an intrusion to open the door 
and walk in unannounced: but knowing that 
knocking would be a useless ceremony, I passed 
through the little sitting-room into which the 
outside door opened, and tapped lightly at the 
door of the back room. 

“ Come in,” was the response, and I opened 


HOUSEKEEPING CARES. 


123 


the door to find a small, neatly-kept room, with 
a large high bedstead drawn before the window. 
Everything was scrupulously clean, and a bright 
patchwork quilt covered the bed. A thin, pale- 
faced woman was leaning against the pillows, 
and the snowy frills of her old-fashioned night- 
cap were hardly whiter than her face. She had 
evidently been expecting me and seemed very 
much pleased at my call. 

“When Andrew came home to dinner he 
told me you was coming,” she said; “but I 
was afraid to let myself expect you for fear 
something might happen that you couldn’t 
come.” 

My heart ached as I listened to her story of 
loneliness and suffering. It seemed so hard 
that she should have to lie there alone with no 
one to sympathize with her pain, and with no 
care save that of her rheumatic husband. 

“ Andrew does the best he can for me,” she 
said, “ but it ’s a sore trial not to be able to get 
around and do for myself. If there ’s anything 
I can’t abide, it’s dirt; and though we have a 
young girl come in once a week to clean up 
and do the washing, I never feel satisfied that 
she has n’t slighted the kitchen. I can see to 
this room, but what worries me most of all is 
the kitchen. I can’t get out to take a look at it, 
and it ’s on my mind all the time.” 


124 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


To please her I looked out into the tiny 
kitchen, and assured her that it was as .spot- 
lessly clean as her bedroom, and she looked 
comforted at my assurance. I read to her from 
the well-worn copy of the Psalms in large print 
that lay beside her on the little stand, and then 
I came away, happy in the thought that by min- 
istering to “one of the least of these’’ I was 
ministering to Christ. My impulse had been 
to promise to come over and see her every day, 
but I reflected that this might sometimes be 
impossible, and she would expect me and be 
disappointed, so I contented myself with prom- 
ising her frequent visits. I do hope I shall be 
able to do a great deal to brighten that lonely 
sick-room, for without care and friends pain 
must indeed be hard to bear. It seems so 
strange that this opportunity was close at hand 
all the time only I did not know of it, and 
have been sighing for work. It may be that as 
the days come and go I shall see other paths 
of usefulness opening before me. I would so 
gladly be a useful Christian and prove my love 
by loyal, whole-hearted service. 


EFFORTS TO DO GOOD. 


125 


CHAPTER XIII. 

EFFORTS TO DO GOOD. 

December 25. Such a happy Christmas! I 
do not think that anything could add to my 
pleasure, and best of all is this deep peace that 
underlies all other emotions. 

January i. Another year has begun; and 
though I welcomed it gladly, I bade good-by to 
the dear old year reluctantly, it came to me so 
richly freighted with blessings, the full extent 
of which I did not dream in my most hopeful 
anticipations. Surely the coming year can hold 
no greater happiness than I have already ex- 
perienced. It may be that it will bring me 
sorrow; but whether weal or woe, I am con- 
tent, knowing that it all comes from a loving 
Father’s hand. 

January 9. Work has come to me, but it 
is work involving so much responsibility that I 
shrink from undertaking it. The class of large 
boys which might almost be called the young 
men’s Bible class has been left without a 
teacher, and the superintendent has offered it 
to me. I asked for a few days in which to 
decide. I do not shrink from the work, but I 


126 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


doubt my fitness for the position. The next 
two or three years will make such a difference 
in these boys’ lives. They are in the transition 
period between boyhood and manhood just now, 
and if a strong influence for good can be ex- 
erted over them they may be of much use in 
the church and the world in a few years. They 
are boys, too, whose home influence is none of 
the best, and in some cases positively bad, so it 
becomes all the more necessary for their Sun- 
day-school teacher to be an active power for 
good. If I only thought I could succeed I 
would gladly undertake this work ; but I am 
afraid that by taking the class myself I may 
deprive them of a better teacher. I must ask 
for wisdom to decide aright, for I would not 
hold myself back from any service to which 
God calls me. I must remember he can make 
my feebleness strength. 

January 13. To-night I am going to be- 
come acquainted with the members of my new 
class, for I have determined that I will try, at 
least, and prove my unfitness before I refuse 
this work. On looking over the class record I 
saw that fourteen names were inscribed there, 
while the average attendance is only five or six. 
Perhaps by having them all spend a social even- 
ing with me, I may revive their interest in their 
class and induce them to come more regularly. 


EFFORTS TO DO GOOD. 


127 


I am a little afraid that I may not succeed in 
entertaining them, they are so different from 
any boys I have ever had anything to do with 
before. Some of them work in the factory here, 
and others go out with the fishermen, but they 
are all ignorant and neglected. Two or three of 
them can scarcely read, and some have heavy, 
dull faces, which I have never yet seen lighted 
up by a spark of intelligence. Their former 
teacher complained of their lack of interest and 
attention, and I think it will take a good deal 
of study and thought to find out the best way 
to make them take any intelligent interest in 
the lessons. 

I have not had any experience as a Sunday- 
school teacher, but I should think that the first 
thing to do was to make them feel that I know 
each one, and have a friendly feeling for them 
outside of my relation to them as a teacher ; and 
then perhaps, if they are interested in me in re- 
turn, I can make this interest extend to the 
lesson. 

I have sent each one an invitation to spend 
the evening with me, and I have no doubt that 
my note was the first that many of them had 
ever received in their lives. I do hope I can 
make them have a happy evening, for they seem 
to have so little of brightness or variety in their 
lives. I have made bountiful provision for their 


128 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


entertainment in the way of cake and coffee, and 
I have made my pretty parlor and sitting-room 
look as inviting as possible, so I hope they will 
forget their shyness and really have a good time. 
It is seven o’clock, so they will soon begin to 
make their appearance if they come punctually. 
I must put you away for to-night, old journal, 
for I know I shall be too tired to write after my 
guests have departed. 

January 14. I can write '‘success’' as last 
night’s record; for after the first stiffness and 
uncomfortable consciousness of a bewildering 
number of extremities which none of the boys 
knew how to dispose of without bestowing con- 
tinual attention upon them, they all enjoyed 
themselves exceedingly. Sydney helped me to 
entertain them, and I think some of the boys 
were surprised to find how agreeable a minister 
could be. I fancy from some side remarks that 
I overheard that they imagined him continually 
preaching sermons in private life, and altogether 
comporting himself as if he was in the pulpit. 
I was pleased to see that all the boys had made 
some preparation for their visit, and had made 
themselves look as well as circumstances would 
permit. 

When I looked at these rough, uncouth boys 
and remembered that each one was a casket in 
which was enshrined a precious soul, they grew 


EFFORTS TO DO GOOD. 


129 


more attractive to me, and I longed to be able to 
win their heartwS that I might lead them to 
Christ. They all seemed pleased with their 
cordial welcome and promised to be in their 
places in Sunday-school next Sunday. Now by 
every means in my power I must try to make 
the lesson so interesting that they will want to 
come again. 

I need no longer complain that I have no 
work to do. My hands are filled to overflowing 
with these fourteen boys and my heart too will 
be full of them before many days, for I mean to 
bear them often to God in prayer, that he may 
do for them what I cannot. I think if any one 
should ask me what my highest ambition is 
now, I would answer, Bringing all these boys 
to Christ. 

It is strange how one’s thoughts and plans 
can be changed. Less than two years ago every 
ambition was centred in self and in winning 
laurels as a writer. Now that dream has but a 
small place in my life, and I am inflnitely hap- 
pier than in those old days of eager striving 
after the unattainable. If God will only use me 
in whatever manner he may see fit, I shall be 
content. I am so happy in my love for him. I 
hope it will always burn like an altar-fire within 
my heart. 

January 19. My first day with my class. I 
9 


Besi.ie Still Waters. 


130 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


had prepared the lesson with special care, and 
gathered anecdotes and illustrations to make 
everything as interesting as I could. I have 
thought of the boys and prayed for them so 
many times this week that I really love them 
already. I was surprised to find out how very 
little they knew of the Bible, and I discovered 
that none of them are in the habit of looking at 
their lesson before they come to the school. 
After a hurried consultation with Sydney as he 
passed the class, I told them that I thought we 
needed more time to thoroughly study the lesson 
than the brief time allotted to us in Sunday- 
school, and I suggested that they should spend 
an evening with me every week so that we could 
have a better opportunity to talk it over to- 
gether. They looked pleased at the suggestion 
and readily promised to come. I think that 
evening will do double duty, because it will give 
the boys a little time of wholesome innocent 
pleasure, and keep them from the street-corners 
and pool-rooms, besides teaching them. 

I am glad Sydney was willing to sacrifice one 
of our pleasant evenings together, for I felt as if 
it would be such a good thing for the boys. 

I went in after Sunday-school to see Mrs. 
Newman. She asked me to read a chapter 
about heaven, for she said she had passed a 
more restless night than usual and she wanted 


EFFORTS TO DO GOOD. 


131 

to hear again about the home that she would 
reach when all her pain and loneliness was over. 
Her thin face was almost transfigured by the 
peaceful expression which the beautiful words 
brought there. I am so glad she has such com- 
fort in believing. If she thought that the grave 
was the end of her life both now and for all 
eternity, I am sure she could not bear all her 
trials so patiently. She is so grateful for every 
little kindness I show her, and seems to look 
forward to my daily visit with so much eager- 
ness, that I cannot make her realize that it is 
a great pleasure to me to minister in any way to 
her. I am afraid if I did not really enjoy it I 
might not go so often ; but as it is, I always feel 
that it does me good to be with her, and that 
I gain in my spiritual life far more than I can 
give her in temporal matters. 

January 23. It is so lovely to have Sydney’s 
full sympathy in my interest in my boys. They 
were here to-night to study the lesson, and Syd- 
ney helped me prepare myself for it, and then 
when the hour had expired came down from 
his study and talked pleasantly with the boys, 
asking them questions about their work and 
their homes which made them feel that he was 
really interested in them. I am sure this even- 
ing in a pleasant home, where they feel that 
they are welcomed, must be a new and a helpful 


132 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


experience to them, and perhaps some faint idea 
of what manhood might hold for them, if they 
made the best of themselves, stirred a sluggish 
ambition to new life as they listened admiringly 
to Sydney. I do hope I can hold the class to- 
gether. If they were all Christians, what a 
power for good they would be among the young 
men in the town ! I shair never be content until 
I win them all for Christ. 

February i. I have an idea — it is only a 
faint one just now, a mere glimmer in the re- 
cesses of my brain — but I think perhaps I can 
evolve from it a plan that can be put into practi- 
cal working order. Last week I saw some of my 
boys coming out of the pool-room, and I fancied 
that their faces were flushed as if they had been 
drinking. On questioning them, I found that 
they are almOwSt all of them in the habit of 
spending two or three evenings a week at this 
wretched resort. 

'‘Well, we’ve no other place to go to,” ex- 
postulated one of the boys, when I told them 
how sorry I was to hear of their frequenting 
such a place. "We can’t stay at home even- 
ings, for there isn’t anything to do, and cold 
nights we can’t stay out in the streets ; so what 
are we going to do ?” 

This was the question I set myself to answer. 
Some respectable place for meeting the boys 


EFFORTS TO DO GOOD. 


133 


must and should have, or I could not expect 
them to stay away from the pool-room, but 
where should it be? For two or three days I 
pondered the matter in vain, for I could not 
think of any plan. 

I have a vision of a room fitted up specially 
for the boys, in a central part of the town, 
bright and warm, with an abundance of games 
and interesting books. I do not yet just see how 
this is to come about. I shall have to perfect 
my plan a little more before I can think of put- 
ting it into execution. Those boys are worth 
a great deal of thought and work, though I have 
found out that but few are of my opinion. My 
next-door neighbor told me quite frankly that 
she wouldn’t have a lot of great rough boys 
trampling over her carpets for a good deal, and 
she evidently thinks that my interest in them is 
quite Quixotic. Well, I must admit that the 
boys themselves are not very interesting or lov- 
able, but if one looks at them in the light of 
souls which are to be saved, they become very 
precious. 


134 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

TEMPORARY RELIEF. 

February 4. This morning a letter came to 
me from my publisher, and I walked home as if 
I was treading on air, thinking joyfully that I 
would now be able to pay all those dreadful 
housekeeping bills that were steadily accumu- 
lating week after week. After these were paid 
I would put the balance of the money in bank 
and then use it a little at a time, so that I 
would not slip so far behind again. I was quite 
sure that the check was for a goodly amount, 
but I would not look at it until I was safe in 
my own room, lest I might be overwhelmed 
either with disappointment or delightful sur- 
prise. Of course there was a chance that the 
book might not have sold quite as well as it did 
last year, but on the other hand there was an 
equally great chance that the sales might have 
been much larger, and I could not help looking 
on this bright side. 

Sydney was out, so as soon as I went up 
stairs I tore the envelope open with trembling 
fingers and unfolded the crisp pink slip that 
was hidden within the inclosed note. Surely I 


TEMPORARY RELIEF. 


135 


could not have read the numbers aright ; it could 
not be but twenty-seven dollars! There was 
some mistake which the note would explain. 
Every hope vanished as I glanced over the 
account and saw how few copies had been sold 
during the past year. The publisher’s note said 
that he regretted to state that the sale of my 
book had about stopped, but I need not feel as 
if this denoted any great lack of merit in my 
work. On the contrary it was his usual expe- 
rience with light novels; it was the exception, 
not the rule, when there was any demand for 
them after their first appearance. I was child- 
ish enough to vent my disappointment in tears, 
for such a decided falling off in the sale of the 
book I had not contemplated for a moment. 

Now how should I ever settle those bills 
that were destroying my peace of mind? I 
have been trying so hard to be economical 
and keep our expenses within the lowest pos- 
sible figures, but things will get broken and 
have to be replaced ; we both have healthy, 
vigorous appetites which take kindly to bounti- 
ful meals ; and Sydney has some favorite dishes 
for which he often asks, that I will not refuse 
him, though they add quite an item to the 
week’s expenses. What shall I do? I would 
so gladly make up all the difference myself 
if I could, but I do not see how I ever can. 


136 BESIDE STILL WATERS. 

I have not been as unhappy before since we 
were married, if indeed I ever have been. I 
cannot see any prospect of extricating myself 
from my difficulties without going to Sydney 
for help, and I am sure he will be angry with 
me. I suppose he will think I have been de- 
ceiving him in hiding it from him so long, but 
indeed it was only because I thought I could 
straighten matters myself. 

I do wish with all my heart that I had not 
tried to worry along by myself at the begin- 
ning, but had gone to him at once and ex- 
plained that I could not do as his aunt did. 
I am getting more sensitive every day about 
asking him for money, and I sometimes won- 
der whether, if he forgot the housekeeping 
money, I should be able to summon up enough 
courage to remind him of it. This money ques- 
tion is the one discordant note in the harmony 
of our wedded life. I imagine that Sydney 
feels as if all the money belonged to him, and 
he must dole it out little by little without giv- 
ing me any opportunity to use my discretion in 
the matter of its expenditure, and I have a sore 
feeling of being treated unjustly. 

I will give myself three days' respite, and 
then if I cannot see any prospect of being able 
to pay these bills myself, I will tell Sydney all 
about it. He is so loving and forgiving about 


TEMPORARY RELIEF. 1 37 

other things that perhaps he will not be very 
angry with me about this. I love him so that 
I cannot bear to think of incurring his dis- 
pleasure. 

February 7. I told Sydney to-night that I 
could not keep within the housekeeping allow- 
ance, and asked him whether he could not give 
me more. I asked him as lovingly as I could, 
though I felt a constraint coming between us as 
soon as I spoke of money. It may be my imag- 
ination, but it does seem to me that as soon as 
money matters come up in the conversation 
Sydney’s voice grows as cold and business-like 
as if he were talking to a perfect stranger. 

“Aunt Penelope said that I had allowed 
quite a sufficient sum for all the housekeeping 
expenses, and we lived very comfortably upon 
that amount while she had charge of the 
house,” he said, taking up his paper. 

I felt a great lump rising in my throat, but I 
swallowed it back. How could I ever tell Syd- 
ney about those dreadful debts, when it an- 
noyed him to merely ask for a more liberal 
allowance in the future ? 

“But I can’t manage as Aunt Pen did,” I 
said. “ Besides, some things are more expen- 
sive now than they were when she was here in 
the fall ; and then, too, some things have been 
broken. Indeed, Sydney, I ■ have been trying 


138 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


to do with just as little money as I could, but 
I can’t possibly keep within my allowance. I 
am slipping behind all the time.” 

Sydney was interested enough to put down 
his paper now, and a little frown gathered be- 
tween his eyebrows. 

“Slipping behind? Do you mean that you 
have been going into debt contrary to my 
wishes, for you know how I feel about that ?” 

The lump would not be swallowed back this 
time and it brought tears with it. I began to 
cry miserably, thinking that surely Sydney’s 
heart would be softened by my distress, and 
he would gather me up in his arms and be 
so loving that it would be easy to tell him all 
the rest. I would be willing to be scolded, for 
of course I had been doing wrong. 

For the first time my tears fell unheeded, 
and Sydney sat in magisterial silence waiting 
for my answer. 

“Yes,” I sobbed, “but indeed I could n’t help 
it, Sydney.” 

. “I do not see why;” answered Sydney. “ I 
thought I put in your hands all that we could 
afford; and I told you I would rather go with- 
out things than go in debt for them; so I can- 
not see why you say you could not help it. I 
thought you would try to help me instead of 
adding to my cares. Whom do you owe?” 


TEMPORARY RELIEF. 1 39 

Whom did I not owe ? That would not have 
been as hard a question to answer. If only Syd- 
ney would not look at me so sternly, I thought, 
sitting like a culprit before him with my face 
hidden in my handkerchief. 

“The milkman,” I began, but my voice fal- 
tered. 

“ How much do you owe him ?” asked Syd- 
ney. 

I named the sum meekly. It was small 
compared to the grocer’s account, but Sydney 
seemed overwhelmed with indignant surprise, 
and it was evident that he did not dream that 
I was but beginning my confession. 

I took his reproaches silently without at- 
tempting any excuse, wondering meanwhile 
how I should ever go on with my confession. 

“ I will give you the money to pay his bill in 
the morning,” Sydney wound up at last, “and I 
never want this to happen again.” 

I felt like an arrant coward as I stood beside 
his desk nervously fingering the bills. I felt 
my courage oozing out at my finger-tips and I 
hoped he would ask me, “Do you owe any- 
thing else?” that I might have an opening to 
continue my confession. It was evident that 
Sydney thought that he knew the full depth 
of my iniquity, for he took up his paper again 
and vanished behind it without another word. 


140 BESIDE STILL WATERS. 

I could not tell him now. Somehow I would 
earn the money myself, for I could not endure 
to have him angry with me. 

“ Sydney,” I began with a quivering voice, 
“please forgive me. You don’t know how un- 
happy it makes me to have you vexed with 
me.” 

“ It is evident that you do not care whether 
I have oceasion to be annoyed or not,” he an- 
swered. “ It is anything but pleasant to learn 
that we are in debt when I have been suppo- 
sing that we were paying all bills weekly.” 

For a moment I was angry, and my impulse 
was to turn proudly away. If Sydney did not 
care how unhappy I was, if he could withhold 
full and free forgiveness when I had sued for 
it, he might stay angry for a week if he chose. 
I should not humble myself to offer to make 
friends again. It was all his fault anyway. 
If he had given me a reasonably liberal allow- 
anee I should not have had any debts to 
confess; and anyway he should have been the 
one to ask my forgiveness for making me 
worry about something I could not help. This 
was my first impulse, but as I caught a glimpse 
of his brown hair over the top of the paper I 
knew that I could not bear to be unreconciled 
another moment. I pulled his paper aside and 
threw myself in his arms, sobbing. 


TEMPORARY RELIEF. 


I4I 

“Sydney, Sydney, do forgive me and be 
loving to me,” I entreated. “Indeed I have 
been so unhappy because I could not make the 
money last, and I have been punished two or 
three times over for doing wrong. Haven’t 
you scolded me and made me miserable 
enough ? Do forgive me now, for indeed I 
cannot bear to have you angry with me 
another moment. No matter what you should 
do to me, you would never have to ask my for. 
giveness but once. I could not be hard with 
you.” 

Sydney stroked my hair caressingly and tried 
to wipe away my tears. 

“ I did not mean to be hard on you, Phyllis,” 
he said, “ but I do think you gave me cause for 
annoyance. Now dry your eyes, and let me 
have my bright little wife again.” 

“ And you forgive me ?” I whispered. 

“ Yes, yes. We will be good friends again,” 
and he kissed me. “ Now we wont have any 
more trouble of this kind, will we ?” 

No, we would not, I reflected as L bathed my 
face, feeling as if we were not quite as fully rec- 
onciled as we usually are after our little disa- 
greements. Sydney’s manner had n’t been quite 
as loving, and I did not feel quite as convinced 
as I generally do that I only had been the one in 
fault. 


142 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


There was a little gulf between us on the 
money question that our love was not strong 
enough to bridge over. One thing was certain, 
however : I would never ask Sydney for money 
again ; and as for these debts, I would manage to 
settle them speedily somehow. 

It makes me uncomfortable to know that I 
am keeping anything hidden from Sydney, but 
if he was so angry when I told him of but one 
debt, and that the smallest, would he ever have 
forgiven me if he had known all? I think he 
would not have been so hard with me if he had 
known how difficult it was for me to tell him, 
and if he had known how firmly I had expected 
to make up the deficiency myself. I am sure it 
was infinitely harder for me to ask him for the 
money than it was for him to give it, but it will 
be the last time that I ever trouble him that way. 

February 12. I have solved my difficulty 
at last. I wrote to a friend who I knew could 
spare the money, and borrowed from her enough 
to pay all my bills and leave me a little over. 
She sent it at once, and bade me keep it as long 
as I needed it, as she was in no hurry for its 
repayment. I breathed more freely when the 
last bills were paid,' and I was free from the 
haunting fear that they would be sent to Sydney 
and he would be doubly angry with me, for 
running into debt and then for concealing it. 


TEMPORARY RELIEF. 


143 


I will save all I can earn by writing and lay 
it aside to repay this loan. I shall feel burdened 
until it is paid. I think when I am free from 
debt again that I will tell Sydney all about the 
trouble I have had, and come to some under- 
standing on this money question. There will be 
nothing for him to be angry at, if I shall have 
made up all deficiencies myself, and then he 
may realize how much it has cost me to ask of 
his unwillingness. I do not want to think that 
he never will know all this, for I do not want 
to have any secrets from my beloved husband. 
He cannot love me as I do him, or he could not 
have been so cold to me when I was so unhappy, 
but I am content to give the most love, for he is 
more worthy of it than I am. 


144 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


CHAPTER XV. 

TRYING TO WIN -SOULS. 

March i. I have been too busy to write for 
some days, for I at last resolved my vague idea 
into a real tangible plan that could be put into 
execution. 

I asked the boys if they would like a room 
fitted up for their use, where they could go to 
spend their evenings and invite their friends to 
join them, and they seemed delighted with the 
idea. I found there was a large room over a 
store that could be rented for a small sum, and 
the boys agreed to raise this amount among 
themselves, saying that it was not as much as 
they spent in the pool-room, so they would be 
able to pay it without feeling it any hardship. 

We went down to look at the room one af- 
ternoon, and found it cheerless enough in ap- 
pearance to discourage any one less enthusiastic 
than I was. The walls wanted papering sadly, 
the floor was rough and uneven, and the paint 
was worn off entirely in places, and here and 
there about the doors and windows it had been 
defaced by cuts from knives in idle hands. 
Everything was to be done before it could be 


TRYING TO WIN SOULS. 145 

made as attractive as I meant it should be for 
my boys. 

If we had had enough money at our disposal, 
it would not have been a very hard thing to 
transform the room ; but as ingenuity had to 
supply the place of funds, it was a more difficult 
matter. The boys themselves agreed to paper 
the room, and the small amount needed to pur- 
chase a cheap paper was readily contributed. 
Two or three of the boys knew something about 
papering, and they volunteered to do their best, 
while some of the others said they would paint 
the floor and woodwork. For my share of the 
work, I promised to see if I could not solicit 
contributions in the way of chairs and other 
necessary articles of furniture. I had unlimited 
faith in my persuasive powers and in the mis- 
cellaneous contents of several old attics of which 
I had heard, and I felt sure that I could succeed 
in getting what we needed for the room. It 
took several days of hard work to do this, but 
I succeeded even beyond my hopes. At first 
I was rather discouraged, every one was so sure 
that she had not anything that would answer at 
all; but it always ended in my being invited 
to walk up and see for myself whether there was 
anything that could possibly be of service. 

Many a treasure I found that had been laid 
away for years awaiting a chance of further 
10 


Bcaldc Still Waters. 


146 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


usefulness. Old curtains, whose raggedness had 
banished them from the windows they once had 
graced, were not w^holly past possibilities of re- 
pairing, and some gay colored cretonne I eagerly 
seized upon for lambrequins, which would serve 
the double purpose of making the room bright 
and helping to conceal the deficiencies of the 
curtain. A stove was discovered in the cobweb- 
by recesses of one garret, and a large round 
table in another. Almost every one had a chair 
to contribute, and although no two were alike in 
appearance or state of repair, I knew the boys 
would not be disposed to be critical. 

It was a delight to me to arrange the room 
after the boys had collected the various articles. 
It had been suggested that we might make a 
rug that would serve for comfort and warmth, as 
well as brightness, by sewing together odds and 
ends of carpets that had been thrown aside as 
being too small to be used. Some of the ladies 
had helped with this rather hard task, and the 
result was really quite creditable and a great 
improvement to the bare, uneven boards, much 
as they had been benefited by the coat of paint 
the boys had bestowed upon them. 

The walls looked very attractive with their 
coat of new paper, which was very well put on, 
considering the inexperience of the youthful 
w^orkmen. Some pictures were hung up, and if 


TRYING TO WIN SOULS. 


147 


some of them lacked frames, and all were a little 
old-fashioned, there was no one to find any fault. 
In one corner was fastened a large bunch of vel- 
vety brown cat-tails and feathery grasses, and an 
old clock which I would have welcomed as a gift 
for my own use, it was so quaint and old-fash- 
ioned, ticked solemnly in another. In the centre 
of the bright rug stood a large table, covered 
with a green cloth, upon which lay some tempt- 
ing illustrated papers which were to be a weekly 
addition to the room. Enough chairs for the 
boys and any guests they might invite were 
scattered about the room, and a hanging-shelf 
held several games. Several bracket-lamps were 
fastened to the walls and lighted every corner, 
and the lace curtains looped back from the win- 
dow, with the gay cretonne lambrequins falling 
over them, gave a homelike air to the whole. 

The boys were delighted with the result, and 
I was equally so ; for we had certainly had most 
unpromising materials to begin with. The boys 
were very ready to promise that no cards, li- 
quor, or tobacco should be brought into their 
room, and they agreed that whoever came in to 
spend an evening with them should assent to 
the same conditions. I need not say that by this 
time I know all the boys well, and I am sure 
that they each feel that they have a friend in 
me as well as a teacher, and that I am always as 


148 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


interested in them and in their welfare as I am 
during the brief hour that we spend together in 
Sunday-school. They have been attending very 
regularly, and I am proud of my large circle of 
tall boys who take so much interest in the lesson, 
which we still carefully study together during 
the week. I am so glad I have been able to 
help them with this room. 

I am afraid I have let my interest in it lead 
me into a little extravagance. I did not see 
where the games, the illustrated papers and 
magazines, and the lamps were to come from, 
and they were so very necessary for the boys’ 
comfort and enjoyment that I could not resist 
getting them myself. I knew all the time that 
I could not afford it, but I determined to deny 
myself something to make up for it. There was 
no unselfishness about my doing this, because it 
was something that gave me more pleasure 
and gratification than any other self-indulgence 
could have done. I am sorry to confess that 
I rarely am unselfish. It is a joy to me to carry 
out any generous impulse, and of course it is not 
self-denying at all to gratify myself. I am cu- 
rious to know sometimes whether I would give 
if an opportunity came which would cost me 
a real effort. I hope I would, but I cannot be 
sure of myself until I am tested. 

March 9. I am half frightened at some- 


TRYING TO WIN SOULS. 


149 


thing that I did to-day, and yet I do not regret 
it, for I felt as if it was something that the Lord 
had given me to do for him. There is quite a 
peculiar character in town, a dressmaker, who 
attends our church. She has a son and a daugh- 
ter, who attend churches of two other denomi- 
nations. Their mother gives as a reason for 
separating them in this way, that she receives 
custom equally from the members of the three 
churches, and so it is only right to attend them 
all. She attends our church simply by way of 
returning the courtesies which some, of our 
members have shown her in the way of custom. 

No one could be kinder-hearted than Mrs. 
Bearing, and yet surely no one ever had blunter 
or more disagreeable ways. She will do a real 
kindness for some one, and then accompany her 
generous deed with a remark so utterly unfeel- 
ing that all her kindness will be forgotten in the 
resentment that her remark causes. For pro- 
fessing Christians she has a most profound 
contempt, and she delights in dragging some 
inconsistency of a church member to light and 
holding it up for public criticism. Her keen 
eyes detect every fault, and her sharp tongue is 
merciless in rebuke. 

When I am with her she enjoys criticising 
the prayer-meetings and other services of the 
church. 


150 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


'' I do n’t wonder more people do n’t go to 
prayer-meeting,” she began once, when she had 
me fairly in her hands and was at work fitting a 
dress, so that I could not hope to escape for some 
time. ‘‘My sakes! such cold, dreary meetings 
as they are — enough to put you to sleep, not to 
say freeze you.” 

“ I did not know you ever went to prayer- 
meeting,” I answered. 

“ Yes, I went once, but you ’ll never catch me 
there again. Long-winded prayers about noth- 
ing in particular, the worst singing I ever heard 
anywhere, and I don’t know but the remarks 
were the worst of all.” 

I winced a little, partly at this criticism of 
the remarks which I supposed Sydney had 
made, and partly because her cold scissors were 
snipping around my neck in an alarming way. 

“It was before Mr. Landreth came,” she 
continued presently, “ but I have n’t heard that 
they are any better or attended any more lately. 
Well, it ’s all a farce anyway, and those that cant 
the most are the greatest humbugs.” 

I was decidedly in awe of Mrs. Bearing al- 
ways, and whenever I attempted to parry any of 
her attacks I invariably got the worst of it, for 
her bluntness of speech and sharp tongue would 
lead her to say many things that unfortunately 
could neither be wholly denied nor extenuated. 



Beside Still Waters 


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TRYING TO WIN SOULS. 


151 

Last Sunday evening at the close of the church 
service we had a short consecration service, at 
which each member promised that during the 
next week he would say some word to lead a 
friend to Christ. I had been wondering to 
whom I could find courage to speak, when I 
thought of Mrs. Bearing. At first it seemed 
wholly impracticable and useless to run the risk 
of incurring her ridicule and sarcasm, when she 
was so hopelessly hardened against religion. I 
put her out of my mind and began to search for 
some one else, but even when I prayed for wis- 
dom to direct me, Mrs. Bearing returned to my 
mind persistently again and again. Perhaps 
if she knew of the peace and joy of finding 
Christ, she might forget all these inconsistencies 
in others which were such stumbling-blocks in 
her way, and learn to love him as I had done. I 
had once believed that religion was all a pre- 
tence, but I had learned its reality by my own 
experience. It might be that the same awaken- 
ing would come to her if some one only had 
courage enough to wisely and kindly speak to 
her. 

It was quite possible that it had never been 
brought to her personal attention before, as a 
matter in which she was concerned individually 
without any regard to any one else. Bid God 
mean me to be his ambassador? I shrank from 


152 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


the thought of speaking to this hard, blunt wo- 
man about the things which were so sacred and 
dear to me ; but much though the effort might 
cost, I would not refuse to speak. God has been 
so good to me that any duty he places before 
me I will perform willingly and lovingly for 
him. 

With an earnest prayer for wisdom and guid- 
ance I put on my hat and went down to Mrs. 
Bearing’s, wishing that my errand had been 
accomplished and I was safely at home again. 
She was in one of her hardest, most sarcastic 
moods, and like a miserable coward I made 
some weak excuse for my coming and left with- 
out uttering the message I had come to bring. 

I made one faint effort as I stood in the door- 
way, but she had not heard me speak and aimed 
a final shaft at some one in our church who 
was under her displeasure ; so I left in silence, 
mourning over my cowardice. 

When I came home and had regained the 
refuge of my own room, tears came fast. What 
was my love worth, if I could not give the mes- 
sage God had put into my heart for fear of a 
rebuff or .sarcastic speech? Unpromising as 
Mrs. Bearing’s mood was, could I not have 
trusted the promise, “God’s words shall not 
return unto him void,” and believed that he 
would use my weak words spoken for him ? Oh, 


TRYING TO WIN SOULS. 1 53 

lack of faith and of love, and now I had lost my 
opportunity ! 

A thought came to me in my despondency. 
Why not write what I had intended to say? 
Sitting down at my desk I took up my pen, 
pausing first to ask that every word might be 
directed by God, and wrote a note to Mrs. Bear- 
ing. I told her frankly what my real errand 
had been that morning, and how I had yielded 
to timidity and come away in silence. Then I 
tried to tell her what a friend I had found in 
Jesus, and how much I wanted her to share my 
new peace and joy. I confessed that it had not 
been so very long ago that I too had let other 
people’s inconsistencies keep me away from 
Christ and had believed that there was noth- 
ing real in religion, but that now it was the 
chief happiness in my life, as I knew it would 
be to her if she would only open her heart to 
the Saviour. I begged her lovingly and ear- 
nestly to think about the love that was wait- 
ing patiently for her acceptance, and told her 
that it was not because I considered myself 
any better than she was that I spoke of this 
to her, but because I had found how precious 
Christ was and I wanted her to love him too. 

It was a poor weak appeal, and two or three 
times tears blotted the page. It seemed hardly 
worth sending, yet I put the matter in my 


154 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


Father’s hands and left him to wing the arrow 
so it might find an entrance to her heart. I 
sent it down to her house by her son, who was 
passing the door, and all day long I have been 
alternately glad and sorry that I wrote. vShe 
is a quick-tempered woman, and she may re- 
sent my note as ‘‘preaching” and be furiously 
angry at me, and I tremble to think of the 
vials of her wrath being poured out in sarcasm 
upon my luckless head. Perhaps she will ridi- 
cule my words and show the note to others to 
laugh over, and I am afraid I dread ridicule 
more than anger; but I will try to leave the 
matter in God’s hands where I placed it and 
not worry about the result. It is enough for 
me if God will permit me the privilege of 
carrying the message of His love and pardon. 
How much harder it would be if the injunction 
“ See thou tell no man ” had been laid upon me, 
and my lips were sealed so I could not tell of 
the blessedness which has crowned my life with 
its highest joy. 

March 20. To-day I saw Mrs. Bearing for 
the first time since I sent my note, and I have 
been coward enough to be glad that I have not 
been thrown in contact with her. 

She did not acknowledge my note in any 
way, though at the conclusion I had asked her 
to send me just a line to assure me that she 


TRYING TO WIN SOULS. 


155 


was not angry with me. I thought that per- 
haps Archie had forgotten to give it to his 
mother; but when I saw him in Sunday-school 
the following Sunday and asked him, he said 
he had given it to her as soon as he went 
home. She did not come to church last Sun- 
day, and I trembled lest I might have driven 
her away by some lack of tact. 

This evening she was in church for the first 
time since my note, but when we came near 
each other in passing down the aisle she did 
not make any allusion to it, only shook hands 
with me as usual, with some remark about the 
difficulty she found in keeping awake in church 
at night. Her manner was neither kinder nor 
colder than usual, so I do not know what she 
thought of my note. I should never dare refer 
to it, so perhaps it is seed dropped by the way- 
side that will never bring forth ever so small a 
harvest. God knows. I will leave it all in His 
wise hands, but every day I mean to pray ear- 
nestly for Mrs. Bearing, and it may be that 
some day God will grant me the inestimable 
boon of permitting me to bring this soul to 
Him. 


156 


BESIDE STIIX WATERS. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

A CALL TO SELF-DENIAL. 

April 4. Our wedding day. What a happy 
year this first year of our wedded life has been ! 
We have grown nearer together and learned to 
understand as well as to love one another bet- 
ter. I think sometimes that our life is an 
almost ideally happy one. It is only once in 
a great while that there is a “rift within the 
lute,” but it is not long before the harmony is 
restored, for we love each other too dearly to 
trifle with one another’s feelings. 

I have to watch my heart very carefully lest 
I let my love for Sydney usurp the place that 
love for God should have. I am distressed to 
find that every now and then I grow cold and 
indifferent in my religious life, reading the 
Bible is an irksome duty, and prayer does not 
seem the privilege that it really is. When I 
realize that my love is growing cold I am 
frightened at the thought of my ingratitude 
and sin. It seems to me as if my very happi- 
ness was a temptation to indifference instead 
of making my love deeper and more grateful. 
As soon as I find myself growing contented 


A CALL TO SELF-DENIAL. 1 57 

with God’s gifts and forgetting the Giver, I 
pray and pray for new love until I find my 
heart burning within me again. 

One would suppose that my happy life would 
make me love God instinctively out of overflow- 
ing gratitude for all his goodness. It is discour- 
aging to find how poor a thing my love is and 
how little worthy of his acceptance. I do not 
want to wait until trouble drives me to him for 
a refuge, and I will not let myself grow cold 
and unloving, though I have to pray continu- 
ally that my love may be rekindled from above. 
Each year comes to me so bountifully laden 
with blessings that my warmest, most adoring 
love is all too inadequate a return. 

April 15. I have wondered whether I could 
be unselfish if I was called upon to give up 
something that I really prized and wanted to 
keep for myself. The test has come; I have 
been weighed in the balances and found sadly 
wanting. I try to comfort myself by thinking 
that if it was anything else in the world I could 
resign it willingly, but I suppose I am equally 
selfish about a great many things. I mean to 
conquer my selfishness. I have fully deter- 
mined upon that already, but it is costing me 
very dearly. 

We received hews this morning of Linda’s 
engagement. She is to be married early in 


158 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


September to an army officer, who will take 
her away at once to Montana, where he has 
been ordered. Of course it is out of the quCvS- 
tion for Aunt Penelope to accompany Linda 
there; and I think, too, that neither she nor 
her husband desire any company during the 
first of their married life, even if it were a 
possible thing. Misfortunes never come singly, 
the old proverb says, and in this case it has 
been true. Aunt Penelope is very fond of her 
own home, and I think she would rather have 
stayed in it alone than leave it, had she not 
been unfortunate enough a few months ago to 
lose the greater part of her income by a sudden- 
depreciation in the value of some real estate in 
which her money was invested. 

Of course there is but one thing to do: she 
must be invited to share our home. It is only 
right, after she denied herself to educate Syd- 
ney and has been to him the most devoted of 
mothers, loving him quite as dearly as if he had 
really been her son instead of her nephew ; but 
oh, it is so hard to think of sharing with her 
my precious home ! It could never be the same 
place with any one else here. I am selfish too, 
I know, but I do not want to share Sydney with 
any one else. He has been very kind about the 
matter. When I have pore*d over “Stepping 
Heavenward” I have always pitied poor Katy 


A CALL TO SELF-DENIAL. 159 

SO, because her husband thrust his relatives into 
her home without giving her an opportunity to 
make the sacrifice a free-will one. I never 
doubted but that she was sweet and unselfish 
enough to have extended a cordial welcome to 
them if she had only been given the chance. 

Sydney has not even suggested that we 
should ask Aunt Penelope here, but when he 
read me the letters I knew as well as he did 
that there was nothing else to be done. I do 
love him, though, for giving me time to think 
about it and letting me make the proposal first. 
When I bring myself to speak of it, I shall have 
conquered my old selfish nature enough to be 
really cordial in my invitation to Aunt Pen, and 
that I know will please Sydney. He is so good 
to me that I ought to be willing to make any 
sacrifice for him. 

I am quite disgusted with my selfishness, for 
though I have been reasoning and arguing with 
myself all the evening, I feel as bitterly rebel- 
lious as ever. I shall have to fight it out on 
my knees, for I can never conquer in my own 
strength. It ought to help me to remember 
that I am doing this for God as well as for my 
dear husband. This is part of God’s plan for 
my life, and I ought to yield my own plans 
cheerfully. Can I not make this small return 
for all his goodness to me, for the love which 


l6o BESIDE STILL WATERS. 

has guided me through all my life, even when I 
was unconscious of it ? 

Poor old Aunt Penelope ! I am ashamed to 
think how I grudge her this little bit of sunshine 
in her last years. She idolizes Sydney so that 
she is perfectly happy when she is near him, 
and though she is not demonstrative in her 
affection, and never kisses or caresses him, yet 
she is always devising little comforts for him. 
If any one could ‘‘ be carried to the skies on 
flowery beds of ease,” I am sure she would con- 
trive to have Sydney borne thus luxuriously 
away. When I know how happy it would make 
her to share his home, I realize how contempti- 
bly selfish I am. I am young and may have a 
long lifetime before me in which to enjoy being 
with my precious husband. Aunt Pen is sixty 
years old, and so at the most it would be but 
giving up my own happiness for a few short 
years. Her devotion to him deserves this re- 
turn, for if she had been his mother, it would 
have been natural to expect of her this self- 
sacrificing devotion ; but it was unusual love for 
an aunt to display, and no doubt many of her 
plans for her own life had to be ruthlessly 
pushed aside when she took her sister’s children 
into her home. Can I not repay her for her 
goodness to Sydney by putting aside my plans 
now? If I am loving and patient, I am sure I 


A CALL TO SELF-DENIAL. l6l 

can win her love in return, and where there is 
love, a home can never be unhappy. Yes, I will 
ask her to come, for her own sake, for Sydney’s 
sake, and for the sake of Christ who “ pleased 
not himself.” 

April i6. At last I so wholly conquered 
myself last night that from the depths of my 
heart I could bid Aunt Penelope welcome. 
When Sydney came home from some pastoral 
calls I went up in the study, and nestling close 
to him, said, 

“ May I write and ask Aunt Penelope to 
make her home with us, Sydney? I am sure 
she would enjoy it here.” 

The sudden expression of relief and pleas- 
ure that lighted up Sydney’s face was enough 
in itself to repay me for the effort the words 
had cost me. 

I would not have suggested it first, Phyl- 
lis,” he said, “ but I could not see what else was 
to be done. It will be very hard for you, dar- 
ling ; do you realize that ? Aunt Penelope is so 
devoted to me that she cannot see a flaw or fault 
in me, and you know she is very quick to criti- 
cise and comment upon failings in any one else. 
You will have a great deal of fault-finding to 
bear, and it will only make matters worse for 
you if I interfere in any way with what she may 
say. I know you are a brave, unselfish little 


Beside Still Wate s. 


II 


1 62 BESIDE STILL WATERS. 

woman, but I want you to count the cost before- 
hand.” 

“ But what else is there to do, Sydney ?” I 
asked rather wistfully, almost hoping that he 
might have some plan by which we could pro- 
vide for Aunt Penelope without taking her into 
our home. 

“That is just the trouble,” Sydney responded. 
“ There does not seem to be any other alterna- 
tive, for it does not seem right, after all she has 
done for me, that my home should be closed 
against her now. Still your happiness is my 
first consideration of course ; and if you feel that 
you cannot endure the discomfort that you may 
be called upon to experience, we must not ask 
Aunt Pen to come. 

“ I appreciate your unselfishness in suggest- 
ing it, darling, for I know how you enjoy being 
mistress of this little home. When Aunt Pen 
comes she will insist upon advising you about 
every little household matter, and you will be 
brave if you do not have to abdicate altogether. 
Still it may be only for a few years, and if it will 
not be altogether unendurable to you, I should 
be glad to make this return for all the kindness 
she has shown me. All that grieves me is that 
the unpleasantness will all fall upon your shoul- 
ders and I can bear so little of it for you.” 

“ I will not be unhappy over it,” I said com- 


A CALL TO SELF-DENIAL. 163 

fortingly. “Besides, Sydney, you know I love 
you well enough to be glad to have you have 
things just as you like them, and I am willing 
to give up to you any time, so . Aunt Pen and 
I will certainly agree about that. I am not jeal- 
ous either — at least not much — and I will let her 
have you all to herself ever so often, and that 
will make her like me. I think we shall be 
good friends, although of course I cannot hope 
to have her love me as she loves you and Linda ; 
it would be unreasonable to expect that. I 
wont say that I think we can be quite as happy 
as when we are here by ourselves, but it will be 
a pleasure to know that we are making Aunt 
Pen happy, and that will make up for a good 
deal. I will write to her and tell her that we 
shall be glad to have her come and make her 
home with us, for I can truthfully say that, Syd- 
ney, when I think of all she has done for you.” 

I had my reward then in Sydney’s caresses 
and words of loving praise, and after I had writ- 
ten an affectionate note to Aunt Pen, urging her 
to make her plans to come as soon as Linda 
was married, my heart felt much lighter than I 
would have thought possible. 

Perhaps it will not be so great a trial as I 
cannot help anticipating it will be, and at any 
rate there are several intervening months in 
which to be perfectly happy. Even if it is very 


164 BESIDE STILL WATERS. 

hard to be found fault with and criticised, I 
could bear it all for Sydney’s sake, and he will 
love me all the more when he sees how much I 
would do for him. Aunt Penelope, too, will 
appreciate my invitation, and it will cheer her 
lonely old heart to think that she has a home 
with Sydney awaiting her. 

I wish it had not cost me such an effort to 
ask her ; I should like to think that I had been 
unselfish enough to put aside my own feelings' 
willingly and cheerfully. I am always learning 
discouraging things about myself, and some- 
times I wonder if I really am a Christian at all. 


JOY OVER A SOUL WON. 


165 


CHAPTER XVII. 

JOY OVER A SOUL WON. 

July 3. I have been too busy to write here 
for some time, and nothing has occurred that 
seemed worthy of record, but to-night I want to 
tell you, dear old journal, how good God has 
been to me in accepting and blessing my feeble 
effort to lead another to him. 

I have never ceased praying for Mrs. Bear- 
ing since the day I sent her that note, but I 
was beginning to fear that no answer would 
ever be vouchsafed me. If there was any 
change at all to be noticed in Mrs. Bearing, 
it was that she talked more than ever about 
her unbelief in and contempt for religion and 
came less frequently to church. She had never 
alluded to my note, but seemed to take delight 
in talking about people that set themselves up 
for saints because they belonged to the church, 
and judged everybody else that didn’t follow 
in their ways. Her remarks were very hard to 
bear sometimes. 

One day Sydney and I received invitations 
to a large party that was to be given in town, 
and knowing that the chief entertainment of 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


1 66 

the evening was to be dancing, we declined. 
Mrs. Bearing asked me if we were going, and 
when I said “No,” giving our reasons, she said 
contemptuously, 

“ Well, if I was a minister and was so afraid 
of my religion that I had to keep it shut up at 
home and in the church, I ’d go into some other 
business. Is he afraid he couldn’t keep from 
dancing if he went, or what is the matter with 
him? I haven’t much opinion of a religion 
that daren’t be exposed to temptation.” 

I was thoroughly angry at the way she spoke 
of Sydney, and my face flushed hotly. The 
two young girls who sewed for her were listen- 
ing, apparently much amused at her outspoken 
criticism of the minister. 

“ Mrs. Bearing,” I said, trying to steady my 
voice, “ I can hardly believe that you so little un- 
derstand Mr. Landreth’s motives in not attend- 
ing a ball as to really think he does not dare 
expose himself to any temptation. I should 
think, if you had any sense of the fitness of 
things, you would see that the injury would be 
not to himself, but to his influence over others, 
especially the young whom he is trying to 
reach. Even if you are inclined to put such 
an absurd construction upon our actions, it is 
in the poorest taste to criticise my husband to 
me in this way. Perhaps you do not know 


JOY OVER A SOUL WON. 1 6 / 

any better, but it is a lesson you would do 
well to learn for the future.” 

I left the house without waiting for any re- 
sponse and walked rapidly homeward, so angry 
at Mrs. Bearing that I almost felt as if I did 
not care whether she ever became a Christian 
or not. Suddenly my angry thoughts of her 
turned into self-accusing ones. Had I spoken 
as a ^Christian should? Had I spoken “the 
truth in love” or in bitterness? True, ‘she had 
spoken rudely and unkindly, but she did not 
profess to be a follower of the meek and lowly 
Jesus, while she had good reason for expecting 
me to control my temper. 

Perhaps my hasty words and evident ill-tem- 
per would drive her farther than ever away 
from the Saviour to whom I had been praying 
that she might be brought. 

Obeying my impulses, I retraced my steps, 
and tapping at the door entered her sewing- 
room. 

“Mrs. Bearing, I have come back to beg 
your pardon for speaking so hastily,” I said. 
“ I ought not to have lost my temper and I am 
sorry.” 

“ I did n’t care whether you was mad or not,” 
was the acceptance of my apology. “ I always 
speak my mind, and other folks can do the same 
if they want to.” 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


1 68 


I was not sure that I had smoothed her ruf- 
fled feelings by my apology, but at any rate I 
had done right, and I went home feeling better 
than if my angry words had been my last ones. 

Two nights after this I was surprised to see 
Mrs. Bearing enter the prayer-meeting. I fan- 
cied that there was an unusually serious expres- 
sion upon her face, and I could not be sure that 
it was only my imagination. I prayed for her 
with renewed earnestness, hoping that the Spirit 
might touch her heart in that hour so that she 
could not be deaf to His pleadings. 

I was disappointed, when I tried to reach her 
after the service to greet her, to hear her voice 
laughing and talking as if serious impressions 
were the farthest from her thoughts of any- 
thing. 

The next evening I was surprised at receiv- 
ing a call from her. I had been suffering from 
one of my nervous headaches all day, and 
though it had passed away, I was still feeling 
weak and languid. I was lying on the sofa in 
our pleasant sitting-room, and Mrs. Bearing 
would not let me rise, but sat beside me and 
chatted in one of her pleasantest moods. My 
heart was full of her, and I wondered whether 
it might not be that some faint desire to know 
Christ was awakening within her. I longed to 
speak to her about it, but even to Sydney it is 


JOY OVER A SOUL WON. 169 

hard to talk freely and unreservedly upon this 
subject, and I was afraid besides that a word at 
the wrong time would do more harm than good. 
Sydney walked home with her, and when he re- 
turned *1 told him about my note to her so long 
ago and of my constant prayers for her, asking 
him if he thought she was at all softened or 
touched. 

‘‘ I am afraid not, darling,” he answered. 
“As soon as we left the house she launched 
out into one of her usual tirades of abuse about 
church members, and I had to decidedly refuse 
to listen to her before I could check her. It 
would be a wonderful work of grace if God’s 
love should force its entrance into her heart. 
She seems so completely hardened that I must 
confess she discourages me.” 

The next morning Archie came up to the 
house while we were still at the breakfast-table. 

“Mrs. Landreth, mother wants to know if 
you would come right down and see her. She ’s 
sick or something, for she never went to bed all 
night ; and she ’s been crying like anything.” 

Archie was so evidently anxious about his 
mother that I went to Mrs. Bearing’s at once. 

I was ushered up to her room, and opening 
the door found her sitting upon the foot of the 
bed, which had evidently not been slept in, her 
face flushed and swollen with weeping. 


170 BESIDE STILL WATERS. 

“ Oh, I am so miserable !” she exclaimed as I 
entered the room. “I sent for you to tell me 
what to do, for it’s all your fault. I should 
neAT-er have thought about such things if it 
hadn’t been for you. I don’t know* why I 
don’t hate you for making me so wretched, 
but I suppose you meant it for the best. Oh, 
what shall I do?” 

“What is the matter, Mrs. Bearing?” I asked, 
thinking that she must be suffering so from 
some cause that she did not know what she 
was saying, for how could I have been the 
cause of her violent distress ? 

“ Oh, it ’s a terrible thing to feel that you ’ve 
been such an awful sinner that you want to hide 
anywhere away from God. I never thought I 
was bad. I ’ve always been hard-working and 
honest and helped people that were in trouble, 
and when I ’ve compared myself with church 
members it always seemed to me that I was 
better than they were, for all they professed 
so much. But somehow I can’t feel that way 
now. I can only think that I ’m fit neither to 
live nor to die, and I dare n’t ask God to have 
mercy on me. If I dared to die, I believe I 
would rather kill myself than spend another 
night like last night. Oh, I am so miserable! 
If I could only feel as happy and contented 
with myself as I did a while ago.” 


JOY OVER A SOUL WON. 171 

“Don’t wish that,” I exclaimed earnestly. 
“ Do n’t wish you could free yourself from this 
burden, but just take it to God, and he will lift 
it from you and give you such peace that you 
will feel that it is payment a hundred-fold for 
all that you are , suffering now. It is because 
he loves you and wants to bring you to Him- 
self that He has sent his ^irit to you.” 

“I dare not pray,” she answered. “Do you 
remember the other night in prayer-meeting 
Mr. Landreth was telling about that poor wo- 
man who came up behind Jesus and touched 
the hem of His garment? Well, I feel as if I 
would like to have been that woman. I a’n’t 
fit to call to Him nor ask Him to do anything 
for me; but if I could just creep up somehow 
and touch the hem of His garment, it is all I 
could ask. 

“ I Ve been trying to fight this off for days, 
but it seemed as if I could n’t think of anything 
else. I could n’t stay away when I heard the bell 
ringing for prayer-meeting, and yet I wouldn’t 
own up to myself that I wanted to go. I just sat 
and hardened myself all the time and would n’t 
let myself feel solemn. I went up to see you 
half hoping you’d say something more to me, 
and I was mad that you did n’t, though I ’d 
have snapped at you if you had, I dare say. I 
said to myself that you didn’t really care, no- 


172 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


body cared, whether I was saved or not, and 
all the way home I talked as ugly as I could 
to Mr. Landreth, so that he would n’t have any 
notion how I was feeling. 

“ I would n’t give up to it as long as I could 
possibly hold out, but last night I could n’t get 
away from myself anyway. I just had to faee it 
all, and there was no use trying to tell myself it 
was all a sham anyhow, for I knew it wasn’t. 
It just seemed as if there wasn’t anybody but 
God and me in the world, and I had to answer 
for myself. I Ve been ugly to Mr. Landreth 
so often that I don’t know whether he would 
come and see me now or not. I don’t deserve 
it, I know, but if he would only eome and 
pray for me ! He ’s a good man, and the Lord 
would hear him when He wouldn’t listen to 
me.” 

I assured her that Sydney would willingly 
and gladly eome, and hurried home to send him 
to her. He hastened away on his mission of 
comfort, while I knelt down and poured out my 
heart for Mrs. Bearing, thanking God that he 
had so moved that heart which had seemed 
steeled against every good influenee, and pray- 
ing that she might soon find the peaee which 
a sense of forgiven sin brings. 

It was nearly three hours before Sydney re- 
turned. 


JOY OVER A SOUL WON. 173 

“How does Mrs. Bearing feel now?” I in- 
quired eagerly. “ Is she happier?” 

Sydney shook his head. 

“No, she is so oppressed with the conviction 
of her sinfulness and need of forgiveness that I 
cannot bring her to see that she has only to lay 
her burden at the foot of the cross to be free. 
Of one thing I am sure however: she cannot 
stifle the voice of the Spirit ; it is speaking to 
her too loudly ; and when peace does come, it 
will be a lasting peace instead of a false con- 
tentment. I am sorry for her, and yet I am 
very glad that she has awakened to a sense of 
her need of a Saviour. I do not think I ever 
quite as fully realized the power of the Spirit 
as when I saw her in such agony of mind over a 
life which she has always considered irreproach- 
able before. We must pray for her, darling, 
that light may soon come to her.” 

In the afternoon I had hoped to go down 
and see Mrs. Bearing again, that she might 
know my thoughts, sympathies, and prayers 
were with her, but friends came, so I ‘did not 
have an opportunity. 

Sydney went to see her again in the evening, 
but came back to say she was still struggling 
with this overwhelming sense of sin, and could 
not seem to understand how easy a thing it was 
to carry her burdens to Christ. 


174 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


Our united prayers were offered very ear- 
nestly that night that light might come to her 
before another morning dawned. 

Sydney went to her as soon as we were 
through breakfast, and I thought much of her 
while he was gone. 

As soon as he entered the room on his re- 
turn I knew by the expression of his face that 
all was well with her. 

She has found peace at last,” he said as he 
met my inquiring gaze. “ She says she spent 
the night upon her knees, wrestling in prayer, 
discouraged, yet not daring to give up. The 
morning broke before she felt that God had 
heard and answered her prayers ; but at last the 
load was lifted from her heart, and she knew 
that though her sins had been many, they were 
all forgiven her. It is one of the most thorough, 
heart-searching conversions I have ever heard 
of. Her love and gratitude are in proportion to 
her sense of sin, and she is very happy in her 
new joy. She called the children into the room, 
and it was very touching to hear her confess to 
them that she had been sinning all these years, 
but that now she had found and loved her Sa- 
viour, and wanted to lead them to love him too.” 

“What did the children say?” I asked. 

“ Ella looked awed, but Archie’s face grew 
radiant, and he threw his arms about her neck. 


JOY OVER A SOUL WON. 


175 


“‘I’m so glad, mother,' he said impulsively. 
‘ I m^an to be a better boy now, if you are going 
to be better too.’ 

“ Then she asked me to consecrate her and 
her children to the Lord and establish at once 
the family altar, which she meant should never 
be broken down. God has been very good to 
you, my dear little wife, to let you be the hu- 
man instrument in bringing about this great 
change.” 

“ Had my note anything to do with it ?” I 
asked, wondering whether the seed sown in 
such weakness could indeed have brought forth 
such a harvest. 

“Yes, she says the first time she ever re- 
alized that religion might be anything to her 
was when she got your note. She confesses 
that she was angry at you when she received it, 
and thrust it back in its envelope with the in- 
tention of returning it to you ; but something 
in the affectionate manner in which your appeal 
was written dissuaded her from doing this. 
Then her impulse was to burn it or tear it up, 
but something prevented her from doing it. 
She threw it into her bureau-drawer, and it 
lay there for two or three weeks, but every time 
she went .to the drawer she saw it, and it set her 
thoughts to work. At last she could not bear 
to have it there as a constant reminder to her 


176 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


of a subject she wanted to banish from her 
thoughts, so she crumpled it up and threw it 
into her piece-bag. It still seemed to pursue 
her, for it was always in her way whenever she 
had occasion to go to this bag. In spite of her- 
self she began to think, and the more she har- 
dened her heart, the more persistent became 
this voice which urged her to settle this matter 
of her soul’s salvation. 

“ Much of the bitterness with which she has 
spoken of religious matters has been only as- 
sumed to hide her real feelings. She wanted 
me to tell you how she thanked you, and how 
sorry she is for having wounded your feelings 
so many times. I could not have imagined a 
more altered woman. There is a gentleness 
and humility about her manner that is new and 
touching. I cannot rejoice enough over the 
change.” 

I have thought many times that I have 
reached the height of human happiness, that I 
had attained to one of those few supreme mo- 
ments which are the heights in one’s life, but 
surely there can be no happiness and blessed- 
ness equal to the knowledge that one has 
brought a soul to Christ. 

I hardly think the joy that comes with one’s 
own sense of reconciliation to Christ can be 
deeper and sweeter than this, I did not de- 


JOY OVER A SOUL WON. 


177 


serve sucli a rich reward for my feeble effort. 
I had well nigh lacked faith and love enough 
to conquer self and speak at all; and yet the 
promise, “God’s word shall not return unto him 
void,” had been grandly verified, and the word 
so feebly spoken had returned unto him with 
this abundant harvest. I have filled three large 
pages, dear journal, but surely I shall never 
have a greater joy than this to record, and I 
never want to forget this blessedness. 


Beside Still Waters. 


12 


178 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

A CHANGE OF ADMINISTRATION. 

September 3. Somehow there always seem 
to be long lapses between the dates in this jour- 
nal, notwithstanding my resolution to write at 
least once or twice a week. It is almost two 
months since I wrote last. We have been away 
for our summer vacation and have come home 
to spend the week before the wedding in ma- 
king preparations for Aunt Penelope’s coming. 

In the first place I have been having a most 
thorough house-cleaning, that Aunt Pen may 
not have any reason to criticise the appearance 
of the house. Every nook in every closet has 
been zealously scrubbed, and even my scrap-bag 
has been looked over. There have been some 
changes to make in the rooms too. There are 
but two rooms on our second floor, the roomx 
Sydney uses as his study and our large bedroom 
opening from it. I am so selfish that I have 
a little pang over every self-renunciation. Of 
course it will not do for poor Aunt Pen to 
climb to the third story to her room, so I must 
give her our bedroom. I do not mind the 
extra flight of stairs for myself at all, but I do 


A CHANGE OF ADMINISTRATION. 1 79 

mind the very considerable separation from 
Sydney. 

I know from past experience that I shall not 
be allowed to take my writing into Sydney’s 
study any more, and it would mean continual 
disagreement with Aunt Pen if I insisted upon 
it against her plainly expressed wishes. 

If I could only be as near him as our room I 
would not mind so much, but I shall feel so far 
away from him up stairs ; and in the evening, 
when he is busy with his writing, I cannot 
nestle down on my pillow where I can hear 
the scratch of his busy pen. 

I am just going to shake myself every time 
I catch myself mourning over any little incon- 
venience that Aunt Pen will cause. How would 
I like to be so grudgingly permitted to come if 
I was in her place? Phyllis Graham Landreth, 
I am ashamed of you! Yes, I am. 

September 14. The wedding is over, and 
Linda has started with her husband for their 
far-away home, too happy in her new wifehood 
to feel much regret at leaving her home and 
friends. I can’t imagine how she can be will- 
ing to go so far away with some one whom she 
has barely known a year. Of course I could 
have gone to the world’s end with Sydney ; but 
apart from my wifely partiality I really think 
he is ever so much more lovable than Linda’s 


l8o BESIDE STILL WATERS. 

husband, who is very nice, but it seems to me 
that after Linda has known Sydney all her life 
he would spoil all others for her. I don’t see 
how any one could bear contrast with him. 

We stayed two days after the wedding to 
help Aunt Pen arrange everything and pack 
up the things that she meant to bring to her 
new home; then we came back together. Now 
that the excitement of the wedding preparations 
is over Aunt Pen feels completely tired out and 
decidedly nervous in consequence. 

She did not like the arrangement of the fur- 
niture in her room, and Sydney had to alter it 
before she would go to bed. 

I suppose I was tired too, and inclined to be 
cross, for I had to struggle with myself to keep 
from showing any annoyance, and I was in- 
wardly provoked notwithstanding I acquiesced 
pleasantly in the change. 

I have always been proud of being thought 
sweet-tempered, but I am beginning to suspect 
that it is because I have never had any provoca- 
tion to ill-temper. I shall have an opportunity 
to find out now. I was a little disappointed to 
find that, although- I had written the invita- 
tion to Aunt Pen myself, she evidently does 
not convSider that I have any part or lot in 
the matter. She looks upon the house as Syd- 
ney’s, and never thinks that if I had wanted 


A CHANGE OF ADMINISTRATION. l8l 

to be unamiable I might have objected to her 
sharing it with us. 

I see one thing very plainly : if I am to be 
happy now, and if I am to feel kindly towards 
Aunt Pen, I must not look out for slights nor 
be jealous of the greater affection she has for 
Sydney. I think I shall try to live the thir- 
teenth chapter of First Corinthians, and then 
there will be harmony in the house, for there is 
not any danger of a disagreement between Syd- 
ney and Aunt Pen. She admires and believes 
in him so thoroughly that if he propounded the 
theory that the earth has the shape of a pyra- 
mid and revolves around upon its apex, she 
would devoutly credit it and look at him in 
wonder at his superior knowledge. Surely our 
mutual love for Sydney ought to be a link to 
bind us together. 

September 25. Oh, dear, I am getting so 
ill-tempered! I feel as though I had a frown 
upon my forehead all the time. I bristle up 
over every little thing, and I don’t believe it 
would be any worse to vent my vexation some- 
times than to keep it continually pent up. I am 
discovering some new trait in myself every day 
of whose existence I never dreamed before. I 
find that I am intolerably jealous both of Syd- 
ney and of my place in the house. I had 
meant to be very generous with Sydney, and 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


182 

though it is one of my greatest pleasures to 
walk to church with him on Sunday, yet I had 
privately determined to insist upon surrender- 
ing my place to Aunt Pen. 

While I was up stairs putting on my hat the 
first Sunday, I heard the front-door open and 
shut, and looking out the window I saw Syd- 
ney and Aunt Pen starting off together. It was 
just what I had meant to insist upon, and yet, 
because I had not had an opportunity to sug- 
gest it myself, I had a hurt, angry feeling and 
did not feel at all in the mood for going to 
church. 

I was to play the organ that day, so I had 
no time to indulge my temper, which was fortu- 
nate, for I have learned that hurt feelings mag- 
nify their injuries if they are allowed too much 
sympathy. After church I had to try over the 
evening hymns with the choir, so naturally Syd- 
ney did not wait for me, but went home with 
Aunt Pen. That was right, and yet I could 
have shaken myself for feeling slighted and 
forgotten. I have great need to grow in grace, 
or I shall let myself become so warped by my 
selfish, jealous nature that I shall be wholly un- 
lovable. 

October 20. I have not let myself write 
before because I would only have poured out 
a long list of grievances, and I did not want to 


A CHANGE OF ADMINISTRATION. 1 83 

do that: but to-night I cannot keep it all pent 
up any longer. I am so unhappy! I could not 
have realized how much difference Aunt Pen’s 
coming would make in our sunshiny little home 
and in Sydney. I begin already to feel that I 
am unnecessary here, and that if I should go 
away no one would miss me at all. I found 
housekeeping a very difficult task when I had 
Aunt Pen to please instead of Sydney. Noth- 
ing was right, and the contradictory orders that 
Margaret received drove her to the very verge 
of distraction and ill-temper. Aunt Pen in- 
quired the price of everything that came on 
the table, and wanted to know the amount that 
we used, and I was sure she was making esti- 
mates of our weekly expenses. 

One day she said to Sydney, 

Sydney, do n’t you want me to take charge 
of the housekeeping? I can manage far more 
economically than Phyllis does. Her head is 
so full of everything else that Margaret does 
about as she likes, and things are wasted dread- 
fully. It worries me sick to see things going 
on this way.” 

I was sitting on the back porch with my 
portfolio and could not help hearing what 
Aunt Pen said. What would Sydney say to 
this cool proposal ? 

“Well, I suppose it would be a very good 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


184 

plan if it doesn’t make any great difference to 
Phyllis,” assented Sydney; “and I expect you 
would enjoy it, Aunt Pen, for it would seem 
more like home to you to be at the head of 
things. I will talk it over with Phyllis to- 
night.” 

For the first time in months I was thor- 
oughly indignant with Sydney. I could not 
have believed that he would calmly assent to a 
proposition to depose me from my place at the 
head of the house. I had already voluntarily 
surrendered my place at the table, for I could 
never make Aunt Pen’s tea right, and I pre- 
ferred letting her pour it out herself ; but now 
I was to be pushed aside altogether. Oh, why 
had I ever let her come? I resolved not to 
speak about the matter to Sydney until he men- 
tioned it to me, but I felt sore and indignant. 
It hurt me, too, that Sydney did not notice that 
I was not as affectionate as usual the rest of the 
afternoon and did not seem to miss my usual 
caresses. I am a perfect barometer myself in 
regard to people’s moods, particularly Sydney’s, 
and I should know in a moment if he was vexed 
with me ; but sometimes he is rather obtuse, and 
does n’t know when I am annoyed until I give 
vent to my vexation. 

At bedtime when we were alone in our room 
he broached the subject by saying. 


A CHANGE OF ADMINISTRATION. 1 8 $ 

“ Do you really enjoy housekeeping, Phyllis? 
I know of course you prefer our own home to 
boarding, but what I mean is, do you enjoy 
having the care of everything and the general 
management? I have fancied it was not very 
pleasant for you when an experienced old house- 
keeper was watching you.” 

“ Indeed I do enjoy it,” I said warmly. Of 
course it does make it hard to know that my 
very best does not satisfy Aunt Pen, but still I 
love to know that I have charge of your com- 
fort.” 

Poor Sydney was silent. My enthusiastic 
answer did not give him a very good opportu- 
nity to make his proposition that I should resign 
the reins of government. 

“Aunt Penelope would be very glad to take 
all this care off your shoulders,” he said at last. 
“You know she has always been used to the 
management of a house, and I think she would 
be happier and more contented if §he could 
attend to the housekeeping matters, and that 
would leave you free for your writing and other 
things.” 

“ Do you wish me to give everything up to 
her?” I asked. “If you will be more comfort- 
able in any way, or if it would make you hap- 
pier, I am willing to do it, but not otherwise.” 

“We have been very comfortable with your 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


1 86 

housekeeping, dear,” Sydney replied; “but if 
you want me to speak plainly, I must confess 
I would be a little happier if there was not so 
much occasion for Aunt Penelope to find fault ; 
and if she had the management of the domestic 
affairs there would be very little for her to come 
in contact with you about. I will not urge you 
to this unless you are perfectly willing, but I do 
think we would both be happier.” 

“Very well then, you can tell her fo take 
charge of your house,” I answered in constrained 
tones from the depths of the pillow. 

Sydney was evidently relieved that I had 
yielded so easily, for if I had refused to assent 
to the proposal he would have had a conflict 
with Aunt Pen, who would have insisted that 
I must give up if both she and Sydney were 
agreed against me. I am afraid I would be very 
obstinate if any one undertook to compel me to 
give up, and no doubt if Aunt Pen had set her 
heart upon having the house, and I had as firmly 
determined to keep it, it would have been very 
unpleasant for Sydney. 

There was just one little gleam of comfort in 
the dull misery which kept me awake in tears 
long after Sydney had bid me good night and 
was asleep : I would be free from my anxiety 
about the expenses, and give up the hopeless 
task of keeping within my allowance. If Sydney 


A CHANGE OF ADMINISTRATION. 1 8 / 

did not care whether I was in my rightful place 
as his wife, neither would I care. Home was no 
longer the delightful place it had been, and a 
little more or less disappointment did not mat- 
ter. 

The next morning after breakfast Aunt Pen 
took up the reins I had dropped, and all day 
long there was chaos in the kitchen while things 
were being rearranged to suit her ideas of con- 
venience. She is a model housekeeper, I will 
admit, but I am tempted to wonder sometimes 
whether housekeeping does not become an idol 
to her. I verily believe she attaches as much 
importance to the existence of a speck of dust 
anywhere in her domain as she does to a real 
sin, and she thinks the aim of a woman’s life 
should be to dust, cook, and mend. She keeps 
me cross and hateful all the time, and I do not 
feel at all like my old self. 

I am tempted to be irritable even with Syd- 
ney, and I am angry at him continually because 
he does not take up the cudgels in my behalf 
when Aunt Penelope reprimands me as if I was 
a small child. He warned me before she came 
that it would not do for him to interfere, but still 
I can’t help expecting him to take my part, and 
I am childish and unreasonable often enough, I 
know. I feel as if Sydney and I were gradually 
growing apart, and I can no longer be as attract- 


i88 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


ive to him as I used to be in the old days when 
I could always be sunny and bright. I will not 
complain to him of all the little slighting things 
that Aunt Pen says to me, and I do n’t wonder 
that he thinks I am touchy when the first re- 
proving remark that she makes before him 
brings a cloud over my face. 

There is one thing that I am glad of : that it 
is not Sydney who is made unhappy. I would 
rather be miserable myself, for I love him too 
well to want him to be in my place. If Aunt 
Pen and I were not as different as two people 
can possibly be, we might be friends, but we are 
perfectly incomprehensible to each other. I 
cannot * understand her cold, undemonstrative, 
self-contained nature, and I suppose I am a mys- 
tery to her. If when I have been irritable she 
would let me throw my arms around her neck 
and kiss her while I told her I was sorry, I would 
not be cross half as often ; but she barely endures 
a kiss when she is going away on a journey or 
some great occasion of that kind, so I know it 
would annoy her more than my original offence 
if I broke out into uncalled-for caresses when I 
wanted to atone for any misbehavior. 


AN UNHAPPY SUNDAY. 


89 


CHAPTER XIX. 

AN UNHAPPY SUNDAY. 

November 3. This is communion Sunday, 
and I am at home alone while the others are at 
church. I am so wicked that there is no use in 
trying to be good any more. Things are going 
on from bad to worse with me all the time, and 
I don’t know how I can endure this life much 
longer. Last night when I came home from 
preparatory lecture I went up to my room for 
a little time of self-examination and medita- 
tion. I put Aunt Penelope’s failings out of my 
mind entirely and considered only my own 
share in the matter. Why could I not be a 
little more patient and forbearing, even if her 
age and infirmities did lead her to be a little 
petulant and irritable sometimes? I came to 
the humiliating conclusion at last that selfish- 
ness was the root of all my troubles, though I 
had never known how strong a hold it had 
upon me. 

If I had the charity which St. Paul com- 
mends I could bear all things patiently, for that 
love '‘beareth all things, hopeth all things, en- 
dureth all things,” and above all “seeketh not 


1 90 BESIDE STILL WATERS. 

her own.” If my heart was filled with that 
charity I should not feel so aggrieved if I met 
with occasional slights or rebuffs, but should 
bear it patiently and sweetly and let it be a 
help instead of a hindrance to me in my Chris- 
tian life. These little troubles should bring me 
nearer to God instead of driving me away from 
Him as I too often let them. 

If only somebody knew how hard it is for 
me to be set aside and ignored, and I was con- 
scious of loving sympathy all the time, I think 
it would be easier ; but I feel so alone ! I do not 
realize as I might that God cares for all these 
petty troubles, and though if I had a great sor- 
row I should go to Him for strength, yet I 
struggle on alone with these little burdens 
until they accumulate so that my strength is 
exhausted. I knelt down and prayed till the 
bitterness that had filled my heart was soothed 
into peace. I saw things in a different light, 
and the fault seemed to lie at my door instead 
of another’s. I knew that I was disposed to 
fancy unkindnesses and then brood over them 
until I had magnified them into undue propor- 
tions ; and no doubt I often misconstrued 
speeches and actions which resulted from 
thoughtlessness rather than unkind intent. 
When Aunt Penelope loved Sydney so dearly, 
could I not bear with her a little for the sake 


AN UNHAPPY SUNDAY. 


I9I 

of my love for him ? Was it such a great thing 
to overlook small grievances now and then? 
Some day, when those busy hands were folded 
in their last rest, should I not be glad that I 
had not emptied them of these cares in which 
she delighted, merely to gratify my desire to be 
at the head of my home ? 

Another thought came to me too that helped 
me. God had sent me this discipline: it was 
what I needed most or I should not find it so 
intolerable. Perhaps there was some lesson 
that I was to learn in this school that I could 
never learn in any other way. Did I not love 
my Heavenly Father enough to yield willingly 
and submissively to his guidance, remembering 
that he never could err, and that his plan for 
my life was infinitely wiser and better than any 
plans I could make for myself? Ah, it was a 
small enough return to make for the mercy 
which had been extended towards me even in 
the days when I knew not and heeded not the 
infinite love that watched over 'me. 

Before I rose from my knees I felt that love 
had taken the place of bitterness in my heart, 
and I was ready to begin afresh with Aunt 
Penelope and give her a daughter’s tender- 
ness and patience. 

I went to sleep happier than I had been 
for weeks, and awoke determined to put my 


192 ' BESIDE STILL WATERS. 

good resolutions into practice. Generally I 
don’t mi;id acknowledging that I am in the 
wrong and asking for forgiveness, but it is 
very hard to humble myself to Aunt Pen. I 
had been so sullen the last week that I felt as 
if I really owed her an apology; so as soon as 
I went down stairs this morning I said quickly, 
before my courage had time to fail. 

Aunt Penelope, I ’m sorry I ’ve been so 
cross lately. I ’m going to begin over again 
and be real good to you if you will let me.” 

If she could only have said some little kind 
thing to me then I should really have loved 
her; but I don’t suppose that she realized for 
a moment how much it cost me to say these 
few words. 

“ I ’m sure I hope it will last,” she said rather 
severely, looking at me over the top of her 
glasses. “You make everybody uncomfortable 
with your temper, and I should think Sydney 
would be afraid even to make a suggestion, you 
fly up in such a tantrum when anything is said 
to you. You always go by fits and starts at 
everything. I wish you could remember that 
you are old enough to lay aside your childish 
nonsense and act like a woman.” 

My good resolutions were vanishing like the 
morning dew as I listened, and I am afraid I 
should have made some sullen answer if Syd- 


AN UNHAPPY SUNDAY. 


193 


ney had not entered the room just then. As 
it was I sat down to breakfast with a clouded 
face which grew more overcast every moment. 
It did seem as if Aunt Penelope was unusually 
trying, for every remark she made to Sydney 
contained some allusion to me, or I fancied it 
did, which ruffled me still more. 

Sydney remarked upon the excellence of the 
bread, and Aunt Penelope answered, 

“ It would n’t be good if it was left to Mar- 
garet’s making. Nothing is really good in a 
house where everything is left entirely to the 
servant and the mistress is taken up with other 
matters. Constant vigilance is the price of com- 
fort.” 

“Yes,” Sydney remarked absently, as he 
drank his coffee serenely, apparently oblivious 
of the fact that Aunt Penelope was casting 
slurs upon my housekeeping. 

As he extended his cup to be refilled a tiny 
rip in his sleeve caught Aunt Penelope’s eye. 

“Sydney!” she ejaculated, “is that actually a 
rip?” 

“ Yes, I think it ripped last night,” Sydney 
answered. “I felt it give way while I was 
preaching. It will not show, I think, it is such 
a small rent.” 

“ But it is a disgrace for you to wear a torn 
coat into the pulpit,” remonstrated Aunt Pen. 
13 


Beside Still Waters. 


194 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


'‘People will think you are sadly neglected. 
I see I must take your clothes in hand myself 
and attend to their being kept in repair, since 
it does not seem to be your wife’s affair.” 

" Sydney, if you had spoken of it to me last 
evening I should have mended it at once,” I 
said coldly. “I can hardly be supposed to 
know whenever a thread gives way without 
being told of it.” 

“You should know,” interposed Aunt Pen. 
“ It is the first of a wife’s duties to see that her 
husband’s clothes are kept in proper order, and 
you should know for yourself what condition 
they are in and not wait till you are asked 
before you take a needful stitch. Though I 
am not supposed to mend Sydney’s clothes, I 
shall be greatly mortified to think of his going 
into the pulpit with that rip in his coat, and I 
should think you would feel so too instead of 
resenting it.” 

“It doesn’t often happen, does it, Phyllis?” 
asked Sydney good humoredly, trying to soften 
the effect of Aunt Pen’s reprimand. 

“It never should happen,” said Aunt Pen, 
“particularly when Phyllis has none of the 
other duties of a wife to fulfil.” 

By a mighty effort I kept back the angry 
reply that trembled on my lips, but my heart 
was full of anger as we rose from the table. 


AN UNHAPPY SUNDAY. 


195 


How could I go to churcli and sit at tlie 
communion-table when my thoughts of Aunt 
Pen were bitter, unforgiving ones? Perhaps I 
might even yet conquer my evil passions, and 
I resolved to seek the solitude of my own room 
and prepare for the service. 

Taking from the shelf a little book which 
has often helped me, I turned to leave the 
room. Aunt Pen glanced at it as I passed her. 

“ If you had a little more ‘ Practical Religion ’ 
in your daily life instead of carrying it about in 
your hand, I think it would be a great deal bet- 
ter for you.” 

This was the last straw, and I could not keep 
silence any longer. 

“ Perhaps I might have if you were not con- 
tinually saying bitter, unjust things to me,” I 
cried passionately. I do not see how you can 
find it in your heart to come into my house and 
make me perfectly wretched in it.” 

“Phyllis!” said Sydney, in a voice of grave 
reproof, and choking with wrath I rushed from 
the room, slamming the door behind me. 

Through the open transom I caught Aunt 
Penelope’s voice as I fled up stairs. 

“ My poor boy 1 How can you ever be happy 
with such an unbridled — ” 

I did not hear the rest. I did not want 
to. I closed my door sharply by way of addi- 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


196 

tional emphasis, and throwing myself on the 
bed burst into a perfect tempest of sobs and 
tears. 

I could not, would not, endure this wretched- 
ness another day. It was too intplerable, and 
surely God did not expect it of me. Why 
should I give up everything and let my life 
be made so miserable? Sydney did not sym- 
pathize with me; he surely could not love me, 
or he would see how much I had to bear. He 
had not said a word to ward off all Aunt Penel- 
ope’s unkind speeches to me at the table, and 
yet as soon as I had taken up the cudgels in my 
own behalf, he had actually reproved me. If I 
could only go away and leave them together, 
for it was very evident that nobody loved me 
or wanted me here ! 

The first bell was ringing for church, but I 
could not check my tears, and my head throbbed 
painfully as the result of my sobbing. I heard 
Sydney’s step ascending the stairs, and I hid my 
flushed face in the pillow. Oh, if he would only 
come and take me in his arms, and tell me he 
knew that I had had a great deal to try me that 
morning, and that he was not angry with me for 
my irritable speech ! Just a word of love would 
melt my anger and make me penitent; but I 
had too strong a sense of having been unjustly 
treated to bring myself to speak first. Sydney 


AN UNHAPPY SUNDAY. 


197 


could see how wretched I was, and if he loved 
me he would try to comfort me even if I had 
done wrong. 

He did not speak for some moments after he 
entered the room, and when he spoke at last 
it was only to say, 

“ You will be late for church, Phyllis, unless 
you begin to get ready at once.” 

“ I am not going,” I answered in smothered 
tones. 

“Why not?” 

“ Because my head aches, and I do n’t feel fit 
to go,” I replied ; then as Sydney was about to 
leave the room, I felt as if I could not bear to 
have him go without a reconciliation, and I 
entreated, 

“ Please kiss me good-by, Sydney.” 

As he leaned over me I clasped my arms 
around his neck and burst into renewed tears. 

“O Sydney, I am so unhappy! Don’t you 
care ?” 

“Of course I do,” he answered gravely. 
“ But you must remember you make others un- 
happy too by being so ready to take offence. 
Can’t you learn to make a little allowance for 
Aunt Penelope’s way, and let things pass once 
in a while ? It makes it very uncomfortable for 
me to have you both at swords’ points all the 
time.” 


198 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


“ It is only once in a while that I ever do say 
anything,” I answered. “ I stand things until 
my nerves and temper are all worn out, and then 
I can’t keep still any longer. You are not fair or 
just to me to blame me for everything, and if 
you loved me you would be sorry for me instead 
of being so ready to blame. I could not treat 
you so ; and even if I did think you were in the 
wrong, and saw you as miserable as I am now, I 
would only think how I could best comfort you. 
I don’t believe you love me a bit. You don’t 
care for me or my happiness half as much as 
you do for Aunt Penelope’s.” 

“Now you are talking childishly, Phyllis,” 
Sydney answered, looking annoyed. “ It is time 
for me to start to church, and as you are in such 
an unreasonable mood I might as well go, since 
you only want to reproach me for the unhap- 
piness you bring upon yourself. You are not at. 
all like my bright, loving little Phyllis of a few 
months ago. Good-by. I hope your head will 
be better soon.” 

It was a very cold kiss that he gave me, and 
I felt more unhappy than ever as I heard his 
footsteps descending the stairs. In a few mo- 
ments he would start to church with Aunt Penel- 
ope and I would be left alone to my wretched- 
ness. 

Of course I was not like myself ; I knew that 


AN UNHAPPY SUNDAY. 


199 


as well as Sydney; but could lie not see what 
had altered me ? It seemed too cruel that this 
continual trial which I was bearing for his sake 
should make him love me less instead of more, 
when I needed the comfort and help of his love 
so sorely. 

If he would only sympathize with me and tell 
me how much he loved me when I conquered 
my resentment, it would be such a help; but 
he never seemed to notice when I did well, and 
had reproof for me when I failed. Of course he 
did not know of the continual nagging to which 
I was subjected, or he might appreciate my 
temptation to irritability more, for I would not 
be childish enough to take all my little griev- 
ances to him. I know, too, that many of Aunt 
Pen’s speeches that are most unendurable to me 
would not sound particularly trying if they were 
repeated to any one else. It is the way in which 
she says them that aggravates me beyond en- 
durance, and I know I am very sensitive to 
blame. 

If I have done wrong and deserve reproof I 
dp not resent being told lovingly of my fault, 
but this criticising of everything I do or say 
is growing intolerable. 

There is no use in trying to be good, for I 
cannot feel like a Christian. I meant to begin 
afresh to-day, and yet I have failed miserably. 


200 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


Sydney is out of patience with me, I am out of 
patience with myself. It is comforting to think 
that God’s patience and forgiveness never fail. 
How can I teach my boys this afternoon, when 
my heart is overflowing with evil feelings ? I 
must pray for grace to subdue my temper again, 
but unless I keep prayerful watch of myself 
every hour and every moment I shall fall again. 


A year’s close. 


201 


CHAPTER XX. 

A year’s close. 

December i. I have made up my mind not 
to write any more grievances in this book, for it 
is mortifying to see how many pages I filled the 
last time I wrote with a childish recital of my 
wrongs. I am trying now not to think of the 
unpleasantnesses and disappointments of my 
home-life, but to let my mind be filled with 
other things. Not that it is growing any easier 
or that I am becoming better. Scarcely a day 
passes that the tears do not come or that I do 
not rush up to my room again and again and 
pray with all my might to conquer my tem- 
per. I am growing more irritable every day 
in spite of my best efforts, and though I can- 
not expect Sydney to love . me as he once did, 
when he sees only my many failures, I am glad 
God can look into my heart and that He sees 
that I do love Him, miserably poor and weak as 
my love is, and unworthy of his acceptance. I 
am sure I realize the tenderness and patience of 
his love more every day, and it may be that he 
has allowed Sydney’s love to be weaned from 
me that I may cling closer to him, and not put 
my dependence upon human affection. 


202 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


I have a great many interests outside of my 
home to absorb my thoughts, and God is filling 
my hands with work to do for him. I wonder 
now how there could ever have been a time 
when I sought in vain for something to do for 
him. I am so glad he can use me, for my own 
Christian life is so weak and imperfect that I am 
not fit to be an instrument in his hands for help- 
ing others. My love for my boys and their 
affection for me is a comfort to me, and I enjoy 
my work among them greatly. Three of them 
have already come to their Saviour and learned 
to know and love him, and I think many of the 
others are interested. I find time almost every 
day to spend a few minutes with my poor old 
sick woman, and when I am with her my own 
troubles seem small in comparison. I have my 
writing, too, and it helps to keep me from brood- 
ing over little annoyances. 

I wrote a serial story last week, a trashy one, 
I am ashamed to say, but it was the only kind 
that would be accepted by the magazine for 
which I wrote it by request. It was accepted 
and promptly paid for, and now I shall be able 
to carry out a plan for Christmas that I have 
had in my heart for some time. I suppose I 
ought to use the money in paying all my bills 
and returning the loan, but I can do that a little 
later, and I have a hope that if I can gratify one 


A year’s close. 


203 


of Sydney’s great wishes it will revive his old 
love for me, and he will realize how dearly I 
love him. He has wanted a bookcase with glass 
doors to protect his books from dust ever since 
we have been housekeeping, and I know too 
of a certain set of commentaries upon which he 
has set his heart. This money is sufficient for 
both purposes, and I can have a handsome book- 
case with the commentaries placed in his study 
as a Christmas surprise. I want to give each of 
my boys a Bible for a Christmas gift. I am so 
glad I have some way of earning a little money 
so I can do these things to make others happier. 
My own life is such an unsatisfactory one just 
now that I like to do all I can to make others 
happier; it makes up to me for some of my 
home disappointments. 

I wish I could quite settle the question in my 
own mind whether it is right or not to write 
such stories. I asked Sydney, and he said it 
was a matter for me to settle with my own con- 
science, and I find it is pretty hard to come to a 
decision upon the subject. There is.n’t anything 
really wrong about this writing. Of course I 
would not write one of these stories full of sen- 
sationalism and tragedy ; in fact my knowledge 
of villany is too limited for me to make a suc- 
cess in that style of literature ; but this story I 
have just disposed of is certainly not one that 


204 BESIDE STILL WATERS. 

will make any one better for reading it. It is a 
sentimental love story, and I should not like to 
have any one know I wrote it. 

I am afraid the readiness with which I can 
dispose of such a story is a temptation to me to 
think that there cannot be any harm in it; but 
if it is wrong I hope I shall see it clearly. I 
have an order for another story of the same 
kind, and if I still am undecided upon the sub- 
ject I shall write it after Christmas. I have 
prayed over the matter, but I am afraid that I 
am a little biased by my inclinations and can- 
not wholly surrender myself to God’s guidance. 

I do want to be wholly consecrated and de- 
vote every power and talent to God’s service. 
I know that my daily life does not seem to be 
that of a Christian; it is a life full of failures 
and mistakes; but God knows how hard I try 
to keep close to Him and how sorry I am for 
my weakness and sin. Not the most tender 
and patient earthly love can compare with the 
illimitable patience and tenderness of God’s 
love, and I realize more and more every day 
how precious this Friend is who only comes 
the closer in time of special need. 

I feel Sydney growing away from me every 
day, and that is the hardest of all for me to bear. 
I know just how faulty I am, but in the dear old 
days his love for me blinded him to all my im- 


A YEAR'S CLOSE. 


205 


perfections ; or if he saw my failures, he would 
advise and help me so lovingly that I felt more 
assured of his affection than ever. 

I do not blame him for his altered feelings 
towards me. He has the greatest respect for 
Aunt Pen’s opinion and always yields to her 
judgment; so he could scarcely help looking 
at me through her eyes, and she sees nothing 
but wrong in me. 

If she would only alternate her rebukes with 
ever so scanty a meed of praise sometimes, I 
would be more patient; but I cannot feel that 
I never do anything right and praiseworthy. 

If I could bear this discipline as God means 
me to, I can see how it would cure me of every 
lingering trace of selfishness and self-conceit, 
for I would not seek to be gratified in my de- 
sire for appreciation, nor would I feel so hurt 
at being undervalued and misunderstood. I do 
mean to try to learn the lesson which God has 
set me, but sometimes I grow so impatient that 
I wish I might put it aside and choose some 
easier task. 

I wonder whether any one ever had so much 
to contend with as I have in myself. I do mean 
to be good and submissive and loving, and yet 
I am all the time acting in just the contrary 
way. I can hardly understand myself, so it is not 
strange that I am incomprehensible to others. 


206 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


Outside of my home-life I sometimes think I 
have nothing more to wish for. I am busy and 
happy, and every one is so kind to me and con- 
siderate of me. The one thing that I cannot 
have is the one thing that I sigh for most, after 
the usual fashion of human nature. I long be- 
yond anything else to be the queen again of my 
little realm and feel that I am all in all to Syd- 
ney. How can he love me when I can never do 
anything for his comfort or happiness, and when 
I can hardly be bright company for him in the 
little time that we are together each day ? 

Two or three times my heart ached so at the 
thought of his love slipping away from me that 
I threw myself into his arms and begged him 
passionately to give me back the full measure 
of love that had been mine at first, or I could 
not bear it. My tears only annoyed him, and 
he bade me be sensible and not expect extrava- 
gant demonstrations all the time, or I would 
make us both wretched. 

I wonder if he would really be content to 
have me love him in the self-contained way 
that Aunt Penelope does. Sometimes I with- 
hold my usual caresses to see if he will miss 
them enough to remind me of them, but I only 
make the forlorn discovery that he does not ob- 
serve their omission, while I cannot get along 
without them. 


A YEAR’S CLOSE. 


207 


In the pulpit Sydney satisfies me perfectly. 
It is not only because I love him that I am 
so proud of him and think him eloquent, for 
every one else speaks well of him, and the 
rapid growth of the church is a practical proof 
of the good he is accomplishing. 

After all he is my husband, my very own, 
and though his love may be weaned away from 
me he cannot be taken from me, and I am 
happy in loving him. 

December 25. This has been a happy 
Christmas. Sydney was so delighted with his 
bookcase and the commentaries that he has 
been almost like his old self to me; and while 
Aunt Penelope was busy with her preparations 
for dinner I had a delightful morning in the 
study with him, helping to arrange the books 
and indulging in a good deal of ridiculous non- 
sense that would have shocked Aunt Pen if she 
had been there to see it. 

I had so many kind remembrances from 
friends that I felt as if this was a very lovely 
world to live in, and even Aunt Pen relaxed a 
little and seemed to feel more lenient towards 
me than usual. If she could only love me a 
little I would not mind giving up everything 
to her as I do. I do not think it would be pos- 
sible for her ever to entertain any very cordial 
feeling towards me however, for her strong 


2o8 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


jealous nature could not endure any one who 
was in danger of sharing her idol’s affections 
with her. I will not sigh for what I cannot 
have, but will make the best of her occasional 
kindly moods. 

January i. I had a headache yesterday 
afternoon and came up to my room as soon as 
supper was over, hoping that after a time Syd- 
ney would join me and we might spend the 
last hours of the old year together. I was dis- 
appointed in this however, but perhaps I spent 
the time more profitably after I had conquered 
my first hurt feeling. As the last hour passed 
slowly away I spread out the record of the past 
year, blotted and stained as it was with sin, and 
prayed that the blood of Christ might wash it 
clean. I have never before felt how utterly 
helpless I am in myself to walk a step alone, 
but now I know that I must cling closely to the 
Hand that guides me if I would not fall. If I 
could only banish every vestige of self-will from 
my nature and be content to be led, how much 
sorrow and need for repentance I should save 
myself. 

I am content for God to empty my heart of 
earthly happiness if he will fill it with his love. 
I will not ask Him to lighten this cross which 
seems so intolerably burdensome ; I will only 
ask Him to give me strength to bear it with 


A YEAR’S CLOSE. 


209 


rejoicing since He has appointed it. It is so 
small a thing to do when His wonderful pity- 
ing love bears so patiently with all my sin and 
lightens the smallest burden that I carry to 
Him. I know that this new year, whether it 
brings happiness or sorrow with it, will be 
part of God’s plan for my life; and so I can 
enter upon it trustfully, for infinite wisdom has 
marked my future, and I would not, if I could, 
choose my own way. 


BcbI.Ic Still Waters. 


14 


210 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

THE MISSIONARY SOCIETY. 

March 4. I have been trying to come to a 
decision which will involve some self-sacrifice 
upon my part, and as usual I am humiliated at 
discovering how little real consecration I have 
when it is put to the test. Our missionary soci- 
ety has been struggling along in a hopeless sort 
of way for years, just on the brink of dissolution 
continually, though it has not yet quite suc- 
cumbed. The average attendance of members 
is perhaps four, sometimes one or two more, 
occasionally fewer, and the exercises have hith- 
erto consisted in singing a hymn, in asking 
whether any one has brought anything to read, 
a little general conversation upon household 
matters, and then in conclusion another hymn. 

The president had moved away from town, 
and in spite of my protests of inability I was 
elected to take her place. If I am interested at 
all in anything I cannot help throwing myself 
into it with my whole heart and soul ; so after 
my usual fashion I began to ponder whether 
it might not be possible to get up a little interest 
in our meetings. 


THE MISSIONARY SOCIETY. 21 1 

My inexperience was in my way, for unfor- 
tunately I had never attended any missionary 
meetings in my life but our own dreary ones; 
still I wondered why it might not profitably be 
conducted somewhat upon the plan of a literary 
society to which I belonged. There the exer- 
cises were not left to chance, but were carefully 
planned for; why should not the exercises of 
a missionary society be of equal importance ? 

There were several members of our society 
who contributed, but never attended a meeting. 
In order to insure somewhat of an attendance, I 
asked one to play the organ for the next meet- 
ing, another to bring an appropriate solo to sing, 
a third to prepare a short paper on a missionary 
topic, and a fourth to read a bright little leaflet. 
I felt now as if I had made tolerable provision 
for an interesting meeting, but there was one 
matter for me to settle with myself. 

I felt sure that one of the secrets of the fail- 
ure of our society was that God’s blessing was 
never asked upon the meetings and that prayer 
was never offered. How could we expect to 
be prospered if no one was willing to make a 
little sacrifice of self and lead in prayer ? 

I had often thought of this, but never felt 
any sense of personal responsibility in the mat- 
ter, as I was not the president of the society and 
had no part in the opening exercises. Now that 


212 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


it was in my hands, I felt that I dared not omit 
prayer any longer; and yet how could I bring 
myself to pray before others? If any real good 
was to be accomplished by these meetings, some 
one must be willing to ask God’s blessing upon 
our work, but I could not ask any one else to 
take up the cross I was not willing to bear my- 
self. I knew that none of the ladies in our 
church were in the habit of praying before 
others, and it would be just as great an effort 
for them as it would be for me, yet we must 
have prayer. 

It took me at least a week of prayerful effort 
to bring myself to a decision, and I am sure I 
never dreaded anything in all my life quite as 
much as I did this prayer. I am ashamed to 
confess this even to you, old journal. It seems 
incomprehensible that it should be such a bur- 
den for a Christian to pray before others, and 
I am sure it must be some form of selfishness 
that prompts me to shrink from it so. I wfill not 
yield to my cowardice, however. I will at least 
make the effort, and if I break down and fail 
utterly, it may be that God will use my weakness 
to serve him. To-morrow is the day for the 
meeting, and I have hard work to keep myself 
from drawing back even now. If it was a usual 
thing and was expected of me, I fancy it would 
be easier; but my self-love is fearful that some 


THE MISSIONARY SOCIETY. 213 

one may not understand my motives and may 
think it is a bit of ostentation on my part. Oh, 
what mean motives and thoughts mingle even 
with the work I would do for the Master ! 

March 6 . Perhaps it was my foolish dread 
of the meeting that frightened me into a severe 
nervous headache, but I awoke yesterday morn- 
ing with my head throbbing so painfully that I 
could not raise it from the pillow. Usually 
these headaches prostrate me for the day, and 
my first thought was one of relief that now I 
should not be able to go to the meeting, and 
so would escape the prayer I had so dreaded 
offering. As soon as I realized that this was my 
feeling, I determined that if it was a possible 
thing I would not give up to my indisposition, 
but would force myself to go and perform the 
duty that was awaiting me there. I would not 
let myself creep out through this loophole of 
escape, though the exertion would cost me twice 
as much. as if I was well. The meeting was to 
be at two o’clock, so at half-past one I got up 
and dressed and went slowly down stairs. 

I crept wearily around to the church, won- 
dering whether my strength would be equal to 
the effort I had to make. Ten ladies were 
present, and that was a most encouraging num- 
ber. All through the opening hymn my heart 
went up to God in a cry that he would give me 


214 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


strength, but all the time I felt as if I must 
shrink back now that the moment was approach- 
ing so quickly. Will anything ever be as hard 
again for me, I wonder, as it was then to suggest 
that we should hereafter open our meetings with 
a prayer for God’s guidance and blessing ! Such 
a weak, broken, imperfect prayer as it was ! My 
voice trembled so that it was hardly articulate, 
and tears choked my utterance. I am sure it 
was a relief to every one when it ended, but I 
felt a great peace fill my heart as we proceeded 
with the meeting. I could believe that God had 
accepted my poor effort and that it was not in 
vain. 

The preparations for the meeting had been 
carefully made by those to whom they were 
assigned, and every one seemed to enjoy the ex- 
ercises. When we adjourned nothing was said 
to me about the evident effort it had been for 
me to open the meeting with prayer, but I knew 
from the kindness with which each one spoke to 
me that sympathy and not criticism had been 
with me. When the reaction from the tempo- 
rary excitement was over, I could hardly drag 
myself home again, I felt so weak and exhausted 
and my head ached so furiously with every mo- 
tion. 

Aunt Penelope met me in the hall. 

“Why, where on earth did you come from !” 





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THE MISSIONARY SOCIETY. 21 5 

she exclaimed. “I thought you were in bed 
with a headache.” 

“My head does ache,” I answered, “but I 
had to go around to the missionary meeting.” 

“ What was the special need of your going 
there if you have n’t been able to do anything 
else to-day ?” Aunt Penelope asked. 

“ I had to open the meeting,” I replied. 
“ You remember they have put me in Mrs. 
Sloane’s place.” 

“ Well, upon my word, Phyllis, I believe you 
would get up from your death-bed if you had 
a chance to be conspicuous or take a leading 
part in anything. You have always told me 
that you were not able to get out of bed when 
you have your bad headaches; but I suspected 
that if you only had a sufficiently strong incen- 
tive you could keep about. I suppose you hardly 
expect to have your supper sent up to you, now 
that you are able to go down town.” 

“I do n’t want any supper,” I answered, too 
utterly wretched to argue with her, and I was 
thankful to gain my own room again and rest 
my burning head upon the cool, soft pillow. 

Even the injustice of the motives she had 
imputed to my unusual exertion did not trouble 
me much just then, for my pain was too great. 
I was glad to fall asleep as the twilight was 
gathering, and not waken until this morning. 


2i6 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


Free from pain, I had leisure for other feel- 
ings, and for once I broke my rule of never com- 
plaining to Sydney and told him of Aunt Penel- 
ope’s injustice. 

“ Now do n’t you think that is hard to bear ?” 
I asked defiantly, as he did not answer at once. 
“ It is these miserable little injustices that make 
my life so wretched.” 

“ But I do n’t see why you let it make you 
wretched,” he answered. “You did not make 
that effort merely to please Aunt Penelope ; it 
was for a higher and a better reason ; and so I 
cannot see what difference it makes to you 
whether she appreciates your motive or not. 
Why do you brood over all these remarks and 
let them trouble you so, Phyllis? You know it 
is Aunt Pen’s way, so why do you pay any at- 
tention to it?” 

“ Because I can’t help it,” I answered angrily. 
“It is very well for you to say, ‘Don’t mind 
it,’ when she just bows down to you and adores 
you all the time ; but if she treated you as she 
does me I think we should hear something else 
from you. I am foolish ever to expect any 
sympathy from you. You are always making 
excuses for Aunt Pen, but you don’t care 
whether I am wretched or not. I am bearing 
all this for you, instead of claiming my rights 
and privileges as your wife, which almost any 


THE MISSIONARY SOCIETY. 21/ 

one else would do, and this is all the return 
you ever make for it. I feel sometimes as if I 
could not stand it. Aunt Pen is taking all your 
love away from me and you don’t care an}^- 
thing more about me.” 

“ My dear Phyllis,” said Sydney, putting 
down his brush in an annoyed way, “you seem 
to forget entirely that it was your proposition 
that Aunt Penelope should make her home 
with us, and I will not urge it for a moment 
if you find it so intolerable to have her in the 
house with you. I should think this house 
might be large enough to shelter her for a 
few years; but if it makes you so wretched, 
you can ask her to leave us at any time. You 
are the mistress of the house, so of course she 
must go if you say so. The matter is entirely 
in your own hands. As for saying that she is 
making me love you less, that is absurd and 
unjust. I love you as much as I always have, 
though of course I cannot feel pleased with you 
when your temper is so uncertain and you grow 
angry on the smallest provocation. I am grow- 
ing tired of these continual complaints of your 
unhappiness and I do not wish you to say again 
that it is for my sake that you are enduring 
anything. Put an end to Aunt Penelope’s 
home here as soon as you will, if it will end 
these complaints,” and he left the room. 


2I8 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


I was more angry than ever as I completed 
my toilette, angry at Sydney now as well as at 
Aunt Penelope. 

It was very easy to tell me that I might 
send Aunt Penelope away, but that solution of 
the question was entirely impracticable. She 
had no other home open to her, and little as 
she loved me, I could not have enjoyed my 
home if I had known that I had bought it 
back at the expense of her happiness. She was 
old, and liable to need the care of relatives, and 
I could not be happy alone with Sydney know- 
ing that I had made her last years unhappy by 
separating her from him. 

I did not really want her to go away. For 
her own sake, for the sake of the love she had 
for Sydney, I was willing to give her a place 
in our home ; but I did want Sydney’s love and 
sympathy with all my heart, and yet I somehow 
was continually widening the gulf between us. 
All day long I was sullen, even towards Syd- 
ney; but after supper when he was sitting 
alone in his study I was too heart-hungry for a 
little love to stay away from him any longer. I 
went into the study and came up behind him. 

“Sydney,” I said, clasping my arms around 
his neck, “ I am sorry for the way I spoke to 
you this morning, indeed I am. Will you for- 
give me?” 


THE MISSIONARY SOCIETY. 2ig 

“I am always forgiving something,” he an- 
swered, “but I suppose I can again.” 

“Oh, darling, don’t say it so grudgingly! 
Forgive me freely, as if you really did. I can- 
not bear t,o have you angry at me, indeed I 
cannot. I am a great deal more unhappy than 
you are, when I am hateful. Please, if you do 
love me, say so just once as if you meant it, to 
comfort me.” 

“Little goosie!” but he drew me down on 
his knee and I nestled contentedly in my rest- 
ing-place. “I do forgive you and I love you. 
Is that enough?” 

It was fully enough to make me very happy, 
and I did not speak or move in the fulness of 
my content until half an hour later Aunt Penel- 
ope’s footstep was heard upon the stairs ; then I 
sprang up and came up to my room, for I did 
not want my happy mood to be jarred upon by 
a word. 

I will try hard to be more patient and not let 
myself get so angry at everything Aunt Penel- 
ope says. I know it is foolish and only makes 
me unhappy. If I could just laugh all her little 
criticisms off, and not bury them in my heart 
and brood over them, it would be so much 
better and wiser. I do not see why I let my 
nerves get so upon edge that every little thing 
makes them quiver with pain. I do not under- 


220 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


stand why I am so quick-tempered and irritable, 
when scarcely an hour passes that I do not go 
to God for help to conquer myself. I never 
suspected the depths of evil in my heart until 
now, when I meet with so much^ to call it 
out. What should I do if I could not go to 
One who is mightier than I for help ? 


AFTER THE VACATION. 


221 


CHAPTER XXII. 

AFTER THE VACATION. 

July 3. I have almost determined never to 
write on these pages again, for I do not seem to 
have anything but complaints to write ; and yet 
it is a comfort to me to come to you, dear old 
journal, and pour out my heart, when I cannot 
to any one else. A record of my life these last 
few months would be of continual struggles and 
almost continual failures, and I know I am not 
growing in grace ; if anything, my nature is be- 
coming dwarfed and warped. I am glad that 
my failures do not weary God’s patience, for no 
human love can bear with me. Aunt Penelope 
is going away with Sydney this summer, and I 
have accepted an invitation to spend the vaca- 
tion with a friend at the seashore, so I am really 
in hopes that I shall come back rested and re- 
freshed, with my nerves and temper in better 
condition. 

Sometimes I think my irritability is as much 
the result of disordered nerves as of wickedness. 
I have been so very busy this spring. I have 
written a good deal, and my work in the church 
keeps me very busy, I find so much that I want 


222 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


to do. Sometimes I know I am undertaking too 
much for my strength, but it is hard to be pru- 
dent and hold myself back when there is so 
much to be done. 

I can hardly realize that my boys are the 
ones whom I was almost afraid of at first. They 
are doing so well, and leading such upright, 
manly lives, that I am very proud of them. The 
room that I helped them to fit up for their own 
use has become an evening resort for all the 
young men in town, and it accomplishes more 
real missionary work than I could have thought 
possible. 

Some of my boys are always there to take 
charge of the room, and they strictly enforce a 
rule which they themselves made, that nothing 
should take place there of which I would not 
fully approve if I were present. 

This rule covers drinking, smoking, swear- 
ing, and even rough slang; and as the boys 
appreciate the comforts of this bright, homelike 
room, they are generally quite willing to conform 
to it. 

Sunday afternoons, after Sunday-school is 
dismissed, I go down there with the boys and 
one or two ladies, and we have an impromptu 
praise service. We had an old organ given to 
us some months ago, and although it has almost 
outlived its usefulness, yet it answers very well 


AFTER THE VACATION. 


223 


for the use we make of it. We have an hour of 
bright singing, letting any who are present se- 
lect their favorites among the “ gospel hymns,” 
and the boys seem to enjoy it very much. Even 
those who do not sing like to come and hear the 
others. If it does not do any perceptible good, 
it is at least an hour better spent than in idling 
about upon the streets ; and perhaps after a 
time some of these outsiders may be interested 
enough to come to Sunday-school and church. 
At present they are very shy of any invitations. 

All of my boys but four have now come out 
as Christians, and I pray for them daily that 
their love may not grow cold, and that they may 
not fall away from the Master to whom they 
have given their young lives with all their possi- 
bilities of usefulness. 

I feel every day my unfitness to try to help 
others when I am so weak myself ; but I have 
learned that I never come so near to God myself 
as when I carry some one else to him in prayer. 
How my ambitions and plans for my life have 
changed since I wrote the first pages in this 
journal ! Then I fancied that all that could grat- 
ify my highest ambition would be to win fame ; 
now I am “ content to fill a little space if God be 
glorified.” 

This will be my first parting from Sydney if 
I do go away alone this summer, and I wonder 


224 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


sometimes whether I can bring myself to it. I 
think the chief thing that determined me was 
the thought that perhaps absence from me 
might awaken his old love for me, and he would 
find out that I was not altogether unnecessary to 
his happiness, though it does seem so now. I do 
love him so that I cannot bear to have him es- 
tranged from me, and I would do anything in 
the world to win him back again. I must lack 
tact, for I always fail when I make any special 
effort to bring out his love for me. I weary him 
if I shower caresses upon him, and yet I dare 
not withhold them altogether, lest we should 
drift farther apart from each other than ever. 
Life is a puzzle in many ways. 

August 8. I did manage to say good-by 
to Sydney and come away alone, and I am child- 
ish enough to cry myself asleep for him nearly 
every night. He is very kind about writing, 
and his daily letters make me happy because 
there is always some expression of love that I 
can read over and over again and hug to my 
heart. 

I like to think that God orders even the little 
things of my life as well as the great things, and 
I think perhaps he led me here to have a ques- 
tion settled for me that I have not been able to 
decide for myself. 

Last night when I accompanied my friend to 


AFTER THE VACATION. 


225 


church a strange minister occupied the pulpit 
and I felt as if he had been sent there with a 
message for me when he began his sermon. 

It was exceedingly interesting to me and I 
listened eagerly to every word, although the ma- 
jority of his hearers looked listless and uninter- 
ested. When he had concluded there was no 
longer any doubt in my mind whether it might 
or might not be right for me to write those 
trashy stories. I knew that it was wrong — nay, 
wicked — to use any gift that God had given me 
in such a way as to do harm rather than good ; 
and before I left the church I had resolved that 
I would never again write a word upon which 
I could not ask God’s blessing. I had a serial 
story nearly completed in my trunk, but I reso- 
lutely burned it to-day. It cost me a little sacri- 
fice to make up my mind never to write any- 
thing trashy again, for there is always a ready 
market with prompt payment; but I am glad 
that the right and wrong of the matter have 
been decided for me, and I feel as if this stran- 
ger had been sent with a word just for me. It 
gives me a comforting sense of being in very 
near relations to God to believe that he orders 
these little events of life which might seem acci- 
dents to some. 

August 12. To-day I went to the ladies’ 
prayer-meeting, which is so well attended that 

15 


Beside Still Wateifl, 


226 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


it is not abandoned even during the summer 
months. I enjoyed it very much, it was such 
a new experience to me to hear earnest voices 
in prayer, while the speakers were not restrained 
by any self-consciousness or thought of others 
from communing freely with God. I was es- 
pecially attracted by the leader of the meeting, a 
sweet-faced woman with soft, gray hair rolled 
back from her forehead and a singularly bright 
and winning manner. I was delighted when I 
found that I had an opportunity to meet her 
after the service, and we soon discovered that 
we had many mutual friends that were a bond 
of sympathy between us at once. I am strange- 
ly drawn towards her, and I hope I shall learn 
to know her well while I am here. 

August 26. My visit is drawing to a close, 
and I am so glad to think I shall see Sydney 
again soon. I wonder if he is counting the days 
and looking eagerly forward to seeing me, too. 
My visit has done me much good, and I feel as 
if I would never again be as nervous and petu- 
lant as I was the last few weeks before I came 
away. I think I needed the rest and change. 
Now when I go back rested and refreshed, I 
shall have no excuse for ill-temper. Perhaps 
as Aunt Penelope has had Sydney to herself 
all this mmnth, she will be generous and let me 
enjoy his society more. 


AFTER THE VACATION. 


227 


September 3. We are all at home again 
once more, and it was a delight to me to see 
Sydney and hear him say that he had missed 
me. Aunt Penelope was tired last night and 
went to bed directly after supper; so Sydney 
and I had a long, delightful evening together, 
talking over our respective doings during our 
month of separation. 

If I can only be bright and good-tempered, 
perhaps Sydney will love me as dearly as he 
used ; and then I can be happy notwithstanding 
anything. I mean to watch for the first begin-, 
nings of ill-temper and pluck them up as merci- 
lessly as if they were noxious weeds. 

October 15. I think I can truthfully say 
that I am learning to conquer my temper a 
little. I do not grow angry quite as often as I 
used, and I have learned to keep my tongue 
under control even when I am sorely tempted 
to speak hastily. 

In one way I am happier than formerly : I 
feel myself nearer to God, and there is always 
joy in a sense of communion with him. I won- 
der whether I should cling to him so closely if 
my path was not so beset with trials and temp- 
tations. Surely they are God’s angels, disguised 
though they may be, if they lead me to him, and 
I will not pray that they may be removed. 

December 10. To-day my class of boys are 


228 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


an unbroken band for Christ. For the first time 
they all sat down at the Lord’s table, and my 
heart sang a psean of thankfulness as I realized 
that they were all safe, not one astray. This 
one day of happiness would be ample reward 
if I had not already been paid a hundred-fold 
for anything I have done for them. 

March 8. Another long lapse since I wrote 
last. I am so tired and tried with my continual 
temptations that sometimes I wish I could give 
it all up. Aunt Penelope has not been well at 
all this winter, and naturally has been more 
nervous and easily annoyed than at other times, 
and so things have seemed almost unendurable. 
I am sorry for Aunt Pen. I know very often it 
is her nerves rather than her heart that speak so 
irritably, and yet I am just unreasonable enough 
to let it annoy me. To add to our troubles there 
has been perpetual insurrection in the kitchen, 
and we have had a succession of incompetent 
girls, with lapses in between when Aunt Pen 
has insisted upon doing the work herself with 
my help, which I am afraid is of but little use to 
her, there is but such a small part which she will 
trust me to do. 

It has been a hard winter, and I feel as if I 
had less than ever of Sydney’s love to help me 
bear it. He is changing so greatly that some- 
times I feel that I hardly understand him. It 


AFTER THE VACATION. 229 

would be enough to spoil any one to be indulged 
in everything and never suffered to give up any- 
thing for another’s comfort. 

If I am in the rocking-chair when he enters 
the room, Aunt Penelope expects me to offer 
it to him ; and if I do not, she will go into the 
parlor and wheel out an easy-chair for his ac- 
commodation. I love him enough to willingly 
give him the best and most comfortable of 
everything, but I cannot bear to see him accept 
it as a matter of course. There is always an 
array of private dishes around Sydney’s plate, 
little delicacies which he is not expected to di- 
vide ; and though he used to remonstrate and 
insist upon sharing them, he is content now to 
take them for granted and calmly make way 
with them. 

It isn’t that I want them, dear old journal, 
but I do want my husband to be perfect in all 
things, to be one of the noblest and most un- 
selfish of men, and I cannot bear to see him 
growing selfish and unmindful of others. 

Sometimes I think Aunt Penelope hinders 
him in his church work ; for she is so afraid of 
his over-exerting himself in some way, or ma- 
king some effort that he does not wish to make, 
that she dissuades him from doing many things 
that I think are expected of him and would 
make him a better pastor. 


230 BESIDE STILL WATERS. 

It may be that I imagine these things be- 
cause there is .some jealousy in my heart that 
I am not loved and shielded as Sydney is ; but I 
honestly think it is only my love for him that 
makes me grieve to see his character marred by 
any imperfection, when I know how loving and 
unselfish he can be when he is his natural self. 

If I could only look forward to the end of 
this uncomfortable life ; but there is apparently 
but one termination to it, and that is Aunt 
Penelope’s death. I must love her down in the 
depths of my heart, for I cannot bear to think of 
that. I would rather have this discomfort, these 
continual pinpricks, all my life, than wish for a 
moment that she should be taken away from us 
in that way. 

I know just how my heart would ache with 
remorse for every unkind thought, word, or 
speech, and I would wish her back again a 
thousand times. 

No, I cannot wish that this would end, since 
that is the only possible termination. I will 
wish rather that I may grow better, more pa- 
tient and unselfish, so that I may make more 
allowance for the infirmities of age and be more 
tender and forbearing. 


OPPRESSED WITH DEBT. 


23 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

OPPRESSED WITH DEBT. 

January 10. It is months and months since 
I have touched you, dear old journal, and I had 
almost forgotten about you, when I came across 
you to-day as I was packing my trunk. I grew 
so tired of writing down the history of such 
uneventful weeks, and I have been waiting for 
something of more importance to record. 

I am going away now for a little visit, for I 
do not feel as if I could bear this constant strain 
any longer. It is a little humiliating to know 
that I am absolutely free to come and go, and 
that it makes no difference to Sydney or Aunt 
Penelope whether I am at home or not; but at 
the same time it is somewhat of a relief, for it 
would be almost intolerable to find that I was 
tied here when I am so eager to go away. 

I am so tired out that I feel as if even one 
more day would be more than I could bear. I 
am going where I can just rest, as far as any 
excitement or annoyance is concerned, and 
where I can go on rapidly with some writing 
that I am anxious to do. 

I want to spend a month or six weeks away 


232 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


from home, and then perhaps I shall feel like 
myself again. I am in trouble too, and I want 
to free myself from it. It is trouble which I 
have brought upon myself, and I deserve all 
the anxiety it is costing me, but it is helping 
to make me feel used up and weak. Some time 
in my childish days I learned a little couplet, 
which returns to my mind again and again : 

“Oh, what a tangled web we weave 
When first we practise to deceive !” 

Long ago the filmy, invisible strands began to 
weave themselves about me, and I did not break 
myself free from them ; now they are like iron 
cables, and I feel as if I could not break them. 
Little by little, so gradually that I did not real- 
ize what I was doing, I have let myself become 
involved in a perfect labyrinth of debt, and all 
at once my eyes are opened to it. 

It began long ago, when I first let the house- 
keeping bills run behind, and I have never 
really overtaken those first debts. I have earned 
money enough, but there have always been so 
many occasions for present outlay that I never 
saw my opportunity to devote my money to set- 
tling past accounts. Not of course that I have 
let those bills run all these years; but while I 
was paying them I let other accounts run ; and 
I am afraid I have a fatal facility for running 


OPPRESSED WITH DEBT. 


233 

into debt anyway. Now all at once I have 
come to a point where it seems necessary to 
settle up a good many accounts within the next 
month, and I find that I must get to work in 
good earnest to earn some money. 

I have too many interruptions here at home 
to accomplish much, but I hope to do a great 
deal by going away. I have earned enough 
within the last year to pay my bills twice over, 
but there have been many temptations to spend 
the money as I received it. I have done wrong 
in being generous instead of just, but very often 
I have needed money in my work among the 
poor or the boys, and it has been far easier and 
pleasanter to supply the funds myself than to ask 
of other people’s reluctance. I have supplied 
myself with every addition to my wardrobe, and 
that is not a small item of expense, for Sydney 
likes to have me dress tastefully; and then it 
has been such a delight to me to gratify his 
desire for books and other things he has ex- 
pressed a wish for. It has really been thought- 
lessness instead of deliberate wrong-doing, but I 
see plainly now that it was not right, not honest 
indeed, to respond even to a call of charity with 
other people’s money, and yet that is virtually 
what I have been doing ; for while I owed this 
money I had no right to use any that I earned 
for other purposes. 


234 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


I have resolved never to go into debt again 
for anything, and now as speedily as I can I 
will extricate myself from these meshes in 
which I am tangled. 

I feel sometimes as if Sydney and I knew 
less of each other’s doings than others know of 
us. I am scarcely ever alone with him except 
perhaps for a little time in the evening when 
we are both sleepy and have but little to say, 
and I feel that I know nothing of his plans 
and work save that which any of the congrega- 
tion might know. 

I wonder if it would ever be possible for us 
to grow together again, so that we might hold 
heart-to-heart communion with each other and 
make our interests one. 

I am bearing such a heavy burden, and I feel 
that he knows nothing of it, and that I could 
not claim his sympathy even if I tried to tell 
him. The heaviest part of my trouble, the grow- 
ing estrangement from him, he could not under- 
stand, or he would feel it himself ; and I know 
by past experience that I could hardly hope for 
forgiveness if I told him of my indebtedness. 

I cannot bear to feel that we are living such 
separate lives, but I cannot help it. I love him 
as dearly as ever, but any demonstrations of my 
love are tiresome to him, my society is not par- 
ticularly attractive any more, and his comfort is 


OPPRESSED WITH DEBT. 235 

provided for without my intervention, so how 
can I win his heart again ? I am growing more 
hopeless every month that the old-time love can 
ever return, and life seems very dreary with- 
out it. 

January 15. I am enjoying the perfect rest 
which I am having here with my friends. It 
is such a new and pleasurable sensation to find 
that my company adds anything to any one’s 
happiness. All the self-conceit I ever had has 
been well crushed out of me the last year or 
two, and I am positively grateful for the small- 
est kindness any one can show nie. A kind 
word from even a child is grateful to me, I 
have grown to feel myself so undeserving of 
any attention. 

I am so anxious to begin my writing, for 
every day counts now, when the time is so 
short before my day of reckoning; but thus 
far my head has ached so continuously that I 
cannot think. I must have reached the limits 
of my strength before I left home, for all my 
energy has gone and I am content to lie and 
listlessly rest all the time. If my mind was 
only at ease I could soon recuperate, I know; 
but my debts hang over me like a terrible 
nightmare. If my head would only stop aching 
so that I could go to work ; but I do not know 
what I shall do if I cannot get to work soon. 


236 BESIDE STILL WATERS. 

I must have the money. I cannot borrow it, 
and it would be of no use to go to Sydney for 
help, for in the first place I do not think he has 
it; and besides, it may be that I am unjust to 
him, but I do not know that he would give it to 
me even to relieve me from this mental strain. 
Perhaps he has more love left for me than I 
give him credit for, but I have the instinctive 
feeling that he is the last one in the world to 
whom I could go in this strait. 

February 3. I have been too miserable 
even to write in your pages, dear journal, and 
I am too weak and wretched to do more than 
scribble a few lines now. I am in a sort of 
apathy of despair. Day after to-morrow I have 
to meet a note, and I have not a dollar towards 
it. I do not know of any one to ask, for the 
only friend who might lend the sum to me has 
just invested all her money in a new enterprise, 
and is consequently almost impecunious herself. 

I will not even mention my difficulties to the 
friends with whom I am staying, for I know 
they cannot help me and it would only grieve 
their kind hearts. I did ache so for some 
human sympathy that I wrote a long letter to 
dear Mrs. Ainslie, from whom I hear very fre- 
quently, telling her of my wrong-doing and the 
punishment it had brought upon me. I know 
she will be sorry for me and will write me a 


OPPRESSED WITH DEBT. 237 

loving, sympathizing letter. Our acquaintance 
last summer speedily ripened into a deep, warm 
friendship, which I trust as I trust but little love 
now-a-days. 

When Mrs. Ainslie loves any one she loves 
just as I do, with all her heart, and it is an 
instinct with her to show her affection in little 
loving ways and words. I wonder why every 
one does not do the same. It seems to me like 
suppressing all the blossoms of a fruit tree 
and leaving only the leaves and rough stal- 
wart trunk, to drop caresses out of one’s life. 
I wonder if any one ever loved to be loved 
more than I do. I am greedy for it. 

I have had so strong a feeling that by my 
own sin I have brought all this anxiety upon 
myself that I have not felt as if it would be 
right to ask God to help me. It seemed to me 
that I ought to suffer the punishment of my 
wrong-doing in just this way; but to-day I was 
so in despair with a sense of my own helpless- 
ness that I could not resist going to Him with a 
cry for help and forgiveness. I know that He 
is all-powerful and could save me from the re- 
sults of my wrong-doing if He will ; and yet as 
these are not the days of miracles my weak 
faith does not look for relief. 

February 4. My head aches so that I can- 
not think connectedly and I am in the depths 


238 BESIDE STILL WATERS. 

of despair. To-morrow Sydney will have to 
know all my trouble, and I fancy he will never 
forgive me or love me again. Perhaps I am 
going to die, and then he will be glad that I 
shall never trouble him so again. I am burn- 
ing with fever, my head is hot, and I can 
hardly endure this mental distress. I have 
not deserved that God should help me, al- 
though indeed I did not think how wrong I 
was. If Sydney would only love me I could 
bear his severest displeasure, for I deserve it 
all ; but he does not love me and I am all alone 
in my trouble. 

March i. To-day I am able to sit up for 
the first time since I made that last entry. I 
have been ill and am just beginning to regain 
my strength. I was so utterly wretched and 
despairing when I wrote those few lines, and 
I could not see any way of escape from my 
difficulty open before me. That evening Mrs. 
Ainslie came to me. As soon as my despairing 
letter reached her she started, and when I saw 
her dear face bending over me I clung to her 
with the feeling that some one loved me if I 
was wicked and in such trouble. I could 
scarcely believe her words when she lovingly 
insisted that she wanted me to show my love 
for her by letting her relieve me from this 
strain, and that I should use her purse to pay 


OPPRESSED WITH DEBT. 239 

all my indebtedness and go home with her for 
a rest from all anxiety and care. 

I could not resist her loving offer, though it 
hurt me to think of accepting such a kindness 
from her. Half in a dream I wrote the few 
necessary letters inclosing the money which 
freed me from my chains, told Sydney of my 
change of plans — that I intended to spend the 
rest of my visit with Mrs. Ainslie, as I was far 
from well — and bidding my friends good-by 
went away with her. 

At first I could not free myself from the 
anxiety that had been haunting me. I could 
not really believe that the burden had been 
lifted and I had nothing to do but rest; but it 
dawned upon me gradually, and I luxuriated in 
the quiet and the loving nursing I received. It 
seemed to me like a little bit of heaven after my 
loveless home-life, and my weakness only made 
me enjoy it more. I had been on the verge of 
brain fever, and if the reaction from the strain 
had not come just when it did I might have 
been dangerously ill. Overwork, the constant 
strain upon my nerves for months, and this 
growing anxiety concerning my debts, had been 
too much for even my strong constitution. 

I am not afraid that I shall be tempted to go 
into debt again for ever so small a sum, for my 
lesson has been too severe; and if it had not 


240 BESIDE STILL WATERS. 

been for Mrs. Ainslie I should still be suffer- 
ing from it. I only wish I could tell Sydney 
all about it and know that he forgave me. I 
mean to some time, when I think his love can 
stand the test. 

I am to go home next week. How I wish I 
could stay longer in this peaceful retreat where 
I have love enough to heal my sore heart and 
all the little kindnesses shown me that only love 
can devise or execute. 

I thank God hourly for this true friend 
whom He raised up for my hour of need. She 
is such a devoted Christian that I feel as if I 
could sit at her feet and learn new lessons of 
love and faith in our Heavenly Father, and 
the sweetest hour of the day to me is the time 
when we kneel together before retiring and she 
asks God’s blessing upon our friendship. 

It will be a change to leave this calm life, 
where nothing ever annoys or tempts me, and 
go home to renew my old struggle again; but 
I have gained strength, both physical and 
spiritual, by my sojourn, and I must not 
shrink from any cross God has given me to 
bear for Him. 


CLEAR SHINING AFTER RAIN. 


241 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

CLEAR SHINING AFTER RAIN. 

March i 2. At home again ! I had dreaded 
leaving Mrs. Ainslie’s house ; but as the train 
rolled into the station, and I saw Sydney’s dear 
face with a look of expectancy upon it, I forgot 
everything but my pleasure at being with him 
again. My head ached a little, and I was tired 
with my journey, short though it had been ; but 
I was so anxious to be with Sydney this first 
evening after my return that I determined to 
stay down stairs and make myself as pleasant 
as possible. 

As soon as the table was cleared Aunt Penel- 
ope brought out the chessboard, and as Sydney 
drew his chair up beside her and began to ar- 
range the pieces, I knew I might as well go to 
bed as sit there in silence watching a long 
game. 

I was disappointed, but I knew it would be 
selfish to deprive Aunt Penelope of her favorite 
game, so I said good-night and came up stairs. 
I was a little homesick for the bright, loving 
home-life from which I had just parted, but I 
would not yield to this feeling. I unpacked my 
16 


Bcs.'dc Still Waters. 


242 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


trunk and went to bed, soon to fall into a dream- 
less slumber. 

March 29. I think I have learned the secret 
of happiness at last. Yes, though Aunt Penel- 
ope has not changed in the least, and though 
I cannot feel that Sydney loves me as I would 
have him, I am happy. I do not mean that I am 
never tempted nor tried by these little annoy- 
ances, but I have learned that nothing is too 
small to carry to God, and one cannot feel un- 
happy or friendless with such a loving, sympa- 
thetic friend always near. 

I remember, too, that not the tiniest of these 
pinpricks comes to me by chance, but is sent by 
God for a wise and loving purpose ; and surely 
I would not refuse to submit to anything He 
sends me, even if it may not be what I would 
choose myself. I have great compensation for 
all I bear for Him. In the place of the human 
love I have craved I have a deeper realization 
of God’s great love, and a sense that poor and 
unworthy as I am, I have a share in it; and I 
have times of being drawn very near to Him 
in prayer, so near that I almost feel as if I could 
see Him, the sense of his presence is so strong. 

Is not this ample compensation for these 
petty trials and disappointments ? I can see now 
that they are indeed God’s ministering angels 
to me, though I rebelled against them at first 


CLEAR SHINING AFTER RAIN. 243 

and grieved over my marred plans. God never 
makes any mistakes, even though in our short- 
sighted human wisdom we cannot always recog- 
nize the perfect symmetry of his plans. 

April io. We have been in a whirl all day, 
and now that the excitement is over I can hard- 
ly realize how much has happened. At nine 
o’clock this morning a telegram came to us from 
Linda’s husband saying that Linda was very ill. 
If Aunt Penelope was willing to undertake the 
journey she could have an escort all the way, 
for a brother officer would start at four o’clock, 
and Linda wanted her if it was not too great 
an effort. 

Sydney and I both begged her not to go, for 
it was such a long, fatiguing trip that we did not 
think she could endure it; but she was quite 
determined and insisted that she was perfectly 
equal to it, so we had to yield to her. 

Sydney rushed into town to get her ticket 
and see the gentleman who was to be her escort, 
while I helped Aunt Penelope to pack her trunk 
and make her preparations for the trip. I found 
I really loved her, for my heart ached at the 
sight of her distress about Linda, and I dreaded 
the fatigue of the long trip for her. It would 
have been a serious undertaking had she been 
ten years younger, but I comforted myself by 
remembering that her indomitable will could 


244 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


carry her where her strength could not. I think 
the real tenderness and affection with which I 
bade her good-by pleased her, notwithstanding 
her dislike to demonstrations. Sydney went 
back to town with her to see her safely started 
on her way, and while I am sitting here alone 
writing I really have a lonely feeling. I am 
anxious about Linda, and can hardly wait to 
hear again from her husband, and then I don’t 
like to have poor Aunt Penelope start off on that 
long journey. I would really rather have her 
sitting here in her rocking-chair by the fire, 
though I know she would be finding fault with 
me for something if she were. I am not re- 
joicing in my freedom, which will certainly last 
some months, as much as I should have sup- 
posed. I am glad I have been more patient of 
late, and I hope that down in the depths of 
her heart there may be a little love for me. 

April i8. Linda is much better and quite 
out of danger, and Aunt Penelope is safely at 
her journey’s end. We were glad to receive 
such good tidings, for we have been anxious 
to know how she would bear the fatigue. It 
seems very pleasant to have Sydney again, and 
I am trying my hardest to make him so com- 
fortable that he will be satisfied with my care, 
and to be as attractive to him as possible. Did 
ever wife try so hard to win her husband’s heart 


CLEAR SHINING AFTER RAIN. 245 

before, I wonder? He is always kind to me, 
but I miss the love that would prompt tender 
thoughts of every comfort and little tokens of 
his affection for me. 

June i. The days have been passing by so 
pleasantly and uneventfully that I have not 
had anything to record, until to-day a message 
flashed over the wires from Montana that 
brought us sorrow. My eyes are full of tears 
as I write. Poor Aunt Penelope, who has al- 
ways been so active that she could not bear to 
have any one else wait upon her, or do anything 
that she was able to do for herself, has been 
stricken with paralysis. One side is useless, 
and she can articulate but imperfectly. I am 
sure she would have chosen death rather than 
this enforced helplessness and silence, and I 
think I could almost be willing to take her place 
if it would free her from this fate, I am so sorry 
for her. My heart is full of remorse for every 
unkind word I have ever spoken to her and for 
every hard thought. Poor dear Aunt Pen ! If 
she was only here with her beloved Sydney, 
where I could care for her and nurse her ! but 
she is so far away that we cannot even hope to 
see her. I wonder when she will be able to 
come home again. 

September i. Aunt Penelope will never be 
with us again ; her home will have to be with 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


246 

Linda now during the remaining years of her 
life. How could I have felt so bitter over my 
little trials when it made her so happy to be with 
us and to minister with her own hands to Syd- 
ney’s comfort! I am glad she could never see 
into my heart and know how much bitterness 
and unkind feeling was in it. If I had ever 
made her yield her place to me, I think my 
heart would break with remorse now. It made 
those last days of activity and usefulness bright- 
er than they would otherwise have been, and if 
I could have looked forward a little, I should 
have been so glad to yield to her, instead of 
feeling so bitter over it. 

Sydney and I each write to her twice a week, 
long letters filled with bits of news that we know 
will interest her; and I can truthfully tell her 
that I miss her and wish she could be back in 
her old place. 

I am enjoying the housekeeping very much 
now, and think Sydney enjoys his home as 
much as ever. I am praying very earnestly that 
God will give me his love again, that I may feel 
that my precious husband’s heart is mine. I can 
see why it was taken away from me. I should 
never have learned the height and depth of the 
wonderful love of God as long as I felt myself 
wrapped in this human love which was my most 
precious earthly treasure. It may be that God 


CLEAR SHINING AFTER RAIN. 247 

will give it back into my keeping, now that I 
have learned the lesson He set me, and if He 
does I shall hold it gratefully as a gift from His 
hand. 

I am glad I am so strong and well, and can 
always be Sydney’s com, panion whenever he 
wants me to share a task or a pleasure with him. 
I am afraid he would not love me even as much 
as he does now if I were not so overflowing with 
life and high spirits. I do so want to be every- 
thing to him. 

November 4. The very last time I opened 
your pages, old journal, I was exulting in my 
strength and health, and since then I have been 
laid aside almost entirely. I thought that upon 
my health depended my chances of securing 
Sydney’s love, and when I learned that it 
might be months before I could be anything 
but an invalid my heart sank within me. I 
could bear the confinement, the giving up of 
all active duties, if only Sydney would not grow 
weary of me. And yet this was God’s answer 
to my pleading for more love, though I should 
never have chosen this way of winning my 
husband. 

Last evening will always stand out in a 
white light in my memory. It was a new 
starting-point in my life. I was lying on the 
lounge in the twilight sobbing bitterly as I 


248 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


thouglit how little I could be to Sydney now 
and how slender were the chances of my being 
to him all that I had wished to be. In spite of 
new hopes that had dawned upon me, I felt as 
if I had lost my husband. I thought Sydney 
had gone out for the evening, and I was sur- 
prised when I heard him come in presently. 

“ Do n’t light the lamp, please, Sydney,” I 
asked as I heard him open the match-safe, but 
I was too late. A light flashed up even as I 
spoke, and Sydney saw my tear-stained face. 

'‘Why, Phyllis, what is the matter? Are you 
ill?” he asked, lighting the lamp and looking 
anxiously at me. 

“No, I am only unhappy. Please put out 
the light, Sydney, and come and talk to me in 
the twilight.” 

He sat down by me and put his arm caress- 
ingly about me. 

“It was too bad in me to go off when you 
were sick here alone and leave you to get the 
blues,” he said. “What is it, dear? Anything 
that I can cheer you up about ?” 

“ I am afraid you will love me less than ever 
when I tell you what a complaining, good-for- 
nothing wife you will have,” I answered with 
a little sob in my voice. 

Not even to you, dear old trusty friend, can 
I speak of the next half-hour. The old love 


CLEAR SHINING AFTER RAIN. 249 

came back again, deepened and solemnized at 
the thought of new ties to bind us together. 

“ Darling, will you forgive me and let me 
make a new beginning?” Sydney asked ten- 
derly after we had been silent a time, each 
busy with our thoughts. “ I have always loved 
you, but I confess I have not shown it by my 
neglect of the little things which are the bright- 
est part of life to a loving heart like yours. I 
have not appreciated what you have borne so 
bravely for my sake ; and because we are differ- 
ently constituted, and criticism and unkindness 
do not trouble me, I forgot that it could be 
the keenest of trials to your sensitive nature. 
I am selfish, darling. It has been part of my 
life-training to think first of my own comfort, 
and poor Aunt Penelope has developed this 
trait in me more and more every day, though 
she only erred through her love. You must be 
my helpmeet, darling, and be brave enough to 
help me cure myself of this. Do not let me be 
selfish and thoughtless without telling me of it. 
I know you have been unhappy since Aunt Pen 
came to us, and yet I know your kind heart does 
not regret the sacrifice now. I shall try to atone 
for my share of your unhappiness, and though 
I know I have not deserved to keep your dear 
love, can you tell me that you will forgive me 
and that I have not estranged you ?” 


250 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


“Oh, Sydney, I have never loved you less 
for one moment,” I answered. “ I have some- 
thing to ask your forgiveness for. Let me tell 
you everything, so that there will be nothing 
hidden in the life we leave behind us to-night. 
Promise that you will forgive me when I tell 
you. I do not ask that you will not be angry 
with me and blame me ; I deserve that ; but I 
want to know that you will forgive me at last.” 

“There is nothing that I could refuse you 
forgiveness for, my wife,” Sydney replied, and 
I told him the story of last winter’s despair 
from the very beginning to the end. 

“ My poor little Phyllis ! And you would 
not come to your own husband to help you in 
your trouble! Darling, I cannot have been to 
you what I should have been or you would not 
have feared me. There is need for mutual for- 
giveness. I was wrong, too, or there never 
would have seemed any need for concealment. 
You are fully and freely forgiven, dear wife; 
and now that we are beginning over again we 
will have the same interests, and no more of 
the spirit of mine and thine which has caused 
all this sorrow for you. If it had not been for 
Mrs. Ainslie, perhaps I should not have had you 
now!” 

It was all over now, all that dull aching 
sense of being unloved, and we sat long in the 


CLEAR SHINING AFTER RAIN. 25 I 

moonlight-flooded room talking of the future 
and what it was to bring to us. 

My heart was filled to overflowing with a 
deep solemn joy and a sense of God’s great 
goodness to me. He had crowned my life with 
His mercy and I had not a wish unfulfilled. 
He had been better to me than my prayers or 
desires, and there was no good thing left for me 
to desire of Him. 

All my prayers now should be that He 
would fit me by His grace for what life held in 
store for me and make me worthy of its sacred 
trust. 

I cannot realize that it is but a little while 
since I was so unhappy. Now I am supremely 
blessed in knowing that I am a loved and hon- 
ored wife, and that I have a husband who is 
worthy of my truest love. 


252 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

PATHS OF PEACE. 

December 31. I must make one more entry 
in your pages this year, dear old journal, for I 
want to speak gratefully and lovingly of all that 
it has brought me. 

People think that I am patient because I do 
not complain that I have to lie so quietly week 
after week with no strength for any of the 
active pursuits in which I formerly delighted, 
but in reality these are the happiest days of 
my life. I could not have imagined more ten- 
der devotion than Sydney shows towards me. 
Before I have time to express a wish it is 
gratified, and he never wearies of sitting beside 
me and trying to while away the time for me. 
He is womanly in his quick sympathy with 
every pain, and weak and helpless as I am, he 
clings to me with a tenderness that I never 
saw in him., before. Even my hungry heart 
can ask nothing more, and I am too happy to 
mourn over any deprivations when so much 
has been vouchsafed to me that is more than 
abundant compensation. 

And more cause than this for happiness 


PATHS OF PEACE. 


253 


have I. In the hours when Sydney is in his 
study or engaged in church-work I have no 
time to grow lonely, for dear Mrs. Ainslie is 
spending the winter with me and will be with 
us for some months. I have no opportunity to 
miss the tender love and care that a mother 
could give me just now, for she is at once a 
mother and a most true and helpful friend to 
me, and I feel that I owe her more than I can 
ever repay by my most devoted love. 

Mrs. Bearing often comes in to see me, and 
her brusque manner is so softened and sub- 
dued that she is really lovable, and I enjoy 
talking with her. Sometimes she begins to 
tell me what she owes me; but I tell her that 
the happiness is mine as well as hers, and that 
by letting me share my hope and love with her 
she gave me one of the greatest joys of my life. 
My boys come in to talk over their plans and 
hopes with me, so I do not feel as if they 
were growing away from me because I am laid 
aside. 

Best and highest of all my joys is my sense 
of my Father’s love and nearness to me, and I 
have plenty of time for communion with Him 
in these quiet hours. 

How can I be aught else but happy when I 
have everything to make my life bright ? Each 
year has revealed more of God’s goodness to me. 


254 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


and I feel that I cannot be grateful enough for 
all my mercies. The past has been full of His 
goodness and I need have no fear for the fu- 
ture, for I know, whatever comes, “ He doeth all 
things well.” 

July 14. The first entry in the new year, 
though it is already half gone. I have been 
too ill to think of writing, though I have had 
much I would like to have recorded in your 
pages, dear old friend. 

One month ago I passed tremblingly along 
the hard path that seemed to lead my shrink- 
ing feet down to the very gates of death; but 
there I found this wonderful joy, this sacred 
responsibility of motherhood, awaiting me, and 
I forgot all the anguish and fear in the bless- 
edness it brought me. 

My loving eyes wander from this page to 
look at my darling as she slumbers peacefully 
beside me, my fair little daughter, our dainty 
Penelope ; and I wish that I had a new song 
put into my mouth, that I might praise the 
Lord for His goodness to us. Not one thorn 
is in my path now. My life is radiant with 
love, for even far-away Aunt Penelope, when 
she heard of her little namesake, feebly articu- 
lated a message of love for me, and I cherish 
it tenderly because now all is good-will be- 
tween us. 


PATHS OF PEACE. 


255 


I might tremble sometimes at the thought 
of my unfitness for the responsibility of train- 
ing this precious soul for immortality, but she 
is not left to my weakness, for I know where 
to go for strength for every need, and God’s 
strength will strengthen my feebleness; so I 
accept the joy of the present and will walk by 
His guidance through every step of the future. 
My beloved husband, my precious little daugh- 
ter, my well loved friend: each one is so dear 
to me, and my heart can scarcely contain the 
flood of love which I pour out upon them ; but 
chiefest among my gifts I thank God for the 
wondrous love that sought me when I w'as 
afar off and bound me to the cross with cords 
that will never break. Better than all my 
earthly treasures do I love their Giver, and I 
will hold them but loosely in my clasp, that I 
may never refuse to surrender them if He 
claims them. 


256 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


This morning I came across my old journal, 
and Penelope, who was helping me rearrange 
some treasures in my desk, asked, 

“What is that large book full of writing, 
mamma. Is it a story ?” 

I laid it aside for a quiet evening hour, and 
now when Sydney is bending over his desk, and 
Penelope, little Sydney, and baby Lilian are fast 
asleep, I have glanced it over with a heart full 
of mingled emotions. 

Ten years ago I made the last entry. I could 
not have believed that time had sped away so 
swiftly had I not seen the date. 

It has brought the past up vividly before me, 
those childish records of my little hopes and am- 
bitions, my little triumphs and disappointments. 
Were those feelings once mine really? It seems 
almost as if I were reading pages from the life 
of another. 

My eyes filled as I read on, and remembered 
how my passionate, impulsive nature had to 
suffer before I could learn the lesson of sub- 
mission to God’s guidance. I could recall my 
intense longing for my husband’s love, which 
God saw best to deny until he had first filled my 
empty heart with love for Him ; and now look- 
ing back over the lapse of years with the per- 
spective that we need when we would look at 
God’s dealings with us, I can see how wonder- 


PATHS OF PEACE. 


257 


fully He guided me and led me through rough 
ways into the paths of peace. In the days of my 
girlish folly and waywardness, when I proudly 
thought my life was in my own hands, the In- 
finite presence never failed, but led me safely 
through all the quicksands which might have 
wrecked my life, and through this dear human 
love led me to divine love. 

Even the mistakes that threatened to mar 
the harmony of our wedded life were but parts 
of God’s plan for us and worked together for 
our good. More than I could have asked in my 
short-sighted wisdom has God given me : a home 
bright with love, a husband whom I honor and 
love with the tenderest affection, which I have no 
need to fear is not returned, these precious little 
ones to train for heaven, and abundant opportu- 
nity for constant service for my Master. My 
old ambition is not wholly ungratified. I shall 
never be a brilliant novelist nor a leader in the 
world of thought, nor do I sigh for that. Now 
and then I can dip my pen into life experiences 
and write something that may help a tired heart 
take courage; and I treasure the letters which 
have brought me assurance of that more than 
any praises from the press. 

“All for Jesus ” is my prayer constantly — my 
home, my loved ones, myself with every energy 
and power. 


Beelde Still Water*. 


17 


258 


BESIDE STILL WATERS. 


As I close this old record which has so 
many leaves from my life within its broad cov- 
ers, I would inscribe, with a heart full of ador- 
ing gratitude, as the closing words upon this 
last page : 

“ The Lord is my Shepherd ; I shall not want. 
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures, he 
leadeth me beside the still waters. 

“ He restoreth my soul ; He leadeth me in 
the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. 

“ Thou anointest my head with oil ; my cup 
runneth over. 

“ Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me 
all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the 
house of the Lord for ever.” 


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